






mass VEL 

Book_ 


Copyright N° 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 








































THE CRAFT OF 
EXPOSITION 













The Craft of 



AND 

ROBERT S. NEWDICK, Ph.D. 


Assistant Professors of English 
Ohio State University 




D. C. HEATH AND COMPANY 

BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO 

ATLANTA SAN FRANCISCO DALLAS 

LONDON 




Copyright 1933 

BY J. HAROLD WILSON AND 
ROBERT S. NEWDICK S 


No part of the material covered by this 
copyright may be reproduced in any form 
without written permission of the publisher. 

3 t 2 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


©CIA 5922 4 v K 

fEB - 2 1933 



PREFACE 


The growing recognition of the college composition 
courses as laboratories in which students develop certain 
skills, has brought about a demand for a handbook which 
not merely tells the student how to do a specified task but 
also shows him how to do it. To fulfill that demand this text 
endeavors, first, to meet the student on his own scarcely 
mature level, and, second, to lead him by carefully graded 
steps to higher levels. It is designed to give directions of 
greatest use to the student in his college career, and, after 
he has mastered the essentials of exposition, to open up 
for him the larger fields of critical and creative writing. 

The teacher of composition will find that this text may 
well be used in connection with both a handbook and a 
collection of readings, for the authors have carefully re¬ 
frained from offering rules on grammar and usage, and 
have given only a few examples of each type of exposition. 
It must be borne in mind, moreover, that the student 
themes offered as examples are printed without editorial 
improvement. While many teachers will find it worth 
while to use these themes as the basis of class discussions, 
they will be wise to offer also professional models of the 
best writers. 

Although the material in this text is arranged according 
to a logical plan, it is possible for the instructor to begin 
with whatever assignment he prefers, to omit certain 
assignments, or to concentrate on others according to the 
needs of his students. Beginning students, for example, 


vi 


PREFACE 


should be asked to concentrate on the earlier, and more 
concrete, assignments; advanced students might be per¬ 
mitted to omit these altogether, and to work in the more 
abstract fields outlined later. Some of the more difficult 
assignments need to be repeated until they have been 
thoroughly mastered. 

The authors acknowledge with gratitude the invaluable 
aid given in the preparation of this text by their colleagues 
in the Department of English in the Ohio State University. 
It is not too much to say that without their sympathetic 
interest and cooperation the task would never have been 
undertaken. 

J. Harold Wilson 

Columbus, Ohio Robert S. Newdick 

October i, 1932 


TO THE MEMBERS OF 
THE ENTERING CLASS 


Your college has decreed that you must learn a form of 
writing which differs somewhat from the forms you proba¬ 
bly used in your preparatory schools. There, no doubt, 
you wrote stories and sketches, dealing with events, people, 
and scenes. But in college a more difficult, because more 
precise, form of writing is demanded of you, namely, expo¬ 
sition. Exposition is explanation on the basis of accurate 
and carefully organized facts. 

You will find that your instructors have the annoying 
habit of asking you to explain, explain, and explain again. 
In chemistry you may be called upon to explain the 
methods of making sulfuric acid; in botany, to explain 
the workings of chlorophyll cells. Your instructor in 
history may ask you for the explanation of Napoleon’s 
policies as emperor of France, while your instructor in 
economics may tear his hair over your attempts to explain 
what you understand by “the balance of trade.” And 
your instructors in literature will catch you off guard daily 
with questions about the meaning of a poem, the basic 
philosophy of an essay, or the reasons for believing Shake¬ 
speare to be the greatest of dramatists. In short, a college 
instructor may well be defined as a person who knows only 
five words: what, how, why, which, and — wrong! 

It behooves you, therefore, to learn to explain, and it is 
the function of this text and this course to teach you — 
help you to learn — as much of the craft of exposition as 
vii 


viii 


TO THE ENTERING CLASS 


time will permit. The chapters of this text cover most of 
the forms of exposition which you will have occasion to use. 
You will find yourselves explaining what things are, de¬ 
fining them according to their forms, their parts, or their 
uses. You will be asked to tell how to make things, or how 
to go through certain processes or procedures. Thence 
you will go to the explanation of what mechanisms are and 
how they work. When you have finished with the whats 
and hows, you will take up the whys, first explaining some¬ 
thing about yourself, later digging into books for the re¬ 
corded causes of events, and, lastly, analyzing an event, 
or a situation, past or present, for its unrecorded causes. 
Then, with your accumulated learning, you will attack the 
problem of judgments, the which is better or best of two or 
more things or of two or more ideas. Finally, you will try 
your hands (and heads) at some special forms of writing, 
and in these nearly all of your laboriously acquired writing 
knowledge will have opportunity to display itself. 

And now, proceed. Remember that writing is a con¬ 
scious process, a craft which anyone of reasonable intelli¬ 
gence can learn. It is more intricate and specialized than 
bricklaying or carpentry, but its procedure is much the 
same: first you picture the finished product, and then you 
make it. 


The Authors 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Introduction . vii 

PART I: Preliminary Observations . i 

The Whole Composition. 3 

Something about the Paragraph . 5 

The Mighty Sentence. 8 

The Concrete Word. 12 

Pointed Punctuation . 15 

Introductions. 17 

Conclusions. 21 

Transitions. 24 

Outlines. 30 

PART II: Formal Procedures in Exposition 33 

Chapter One: Things, Methods, and Mechanisms 35 

1. What It Is. 36 

2. How To Do It. 43 

3. What It Is and How It Works. 50 

Chapter Two: Causes and Reasons. 59 

4. A Personal Research. 60 

5. An Impersonal Research: Recorded Causes 66 

6. An Impersonal Research: Unrecorded 

Causes. 72 

Chapter Three: Judgments. 79 

7. A Judgment of Things. 80 

8. A Judgment of Ideas. 87 

ix 





















X 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


PART III: Some Special Problems . 93 

The Abstract. 95 

The Paraphrase.102 

The Interpretation.112 

The Criticism .126 

The Character Study.136 

A Modest Proposal.142 









Part I: Preliminary Observations 



















I 
















' 


















THE WHOLE COMPOSITION 


Whenever an architect plans a building, whether a 
garage or a skyscraper, he pictures it in its finished ex¬ 
ternal form before he plans its interior design. Similarly 
a writer, whether he is asked to compose a short theme or 
a book, pictures his completed work before he plans it 
in detail. Like the architect, the writer is concerned 
with both the usefulness of his structure and its appear¬ 
ance. 

The architect must be certain that his two-car garage 
is just the right size to hold two cars. The shape of his 
building, too, will be determined by its use: he would 
not build a round garage for oblong automobiles. Nor, 
if he were in his right mind, would he build a garage that 
was a cross between a Moorish reception hall and a Gothic 
chapel. So, too, the writer would not try to compress 
into a short story material which would make a novel; 
he would not tell the story of a great battle in a short 
lyric poem, and he would hardly find a flowery, elaborate 
essay the proper medium through which to explain the 
prosaic process of boiling an egg. In other words, the 
design of the writer’s product must be determined by 
the use to which it is to be put. 

There are practical restrictions on the design of build¬ 
ings. The size of the lot, the materials to be used, the 
engineering skill of the builder, all have their influence 
on the final product. Similarly, the writer is limited by 
the space allotted to him by his instructor, editor, or 
publisher; by his subject matter, which is his material, 
and by his skill, which is similar to the skill of the builder. 

3 


4 


EXPOSITION 


But the analogy of the building to the whole composition 
can be carried still further. As the architect makes work¬ 
ing drawings, so the writer makes an outline. As a home, 
for example, is ordinarily furnished with an approach, — 
a walk, steps, a porch, and a front entrance, — so a theme, 
say, is desirably furnished with an introduction, which 
leads the reader into the body of the composition. In 
a certain sense, too, the roof of a building, which crowns 
the whole structure and draws into itself the structural 
lines of the building, is comparable to the conclusion of 
the composition, which may summarize it or furnish it 
with a neat ending. Further still, the interior of the house 
is made up of one or more rooms, as the body of the 
theme is made up of one or more paragraphs; the room 
is made up of walls, a ceiling, and a floor, as a paragraph 
is composed of related sentences; and just as the boards 
of a floor are fitted into place and held by nails, so the 
words of a sentence are fitted into place and held by 
punctuation marks. 

The good writer sees his work first in its totality; 
then he proceeds to build it according to his outline, 
fitting words together to make sentences, assembling 
sentences into paragraphs, and arranging paragraphs into 
the whole composition, each element fitting into its proper 
place. 


SOMETHING ABOUT THE PARAGRAPH 


It would be a curious building whose walls were formed 
of sections of brick, stone, wood, and shingle, without 
plan or purpose, or whose rooms were left with one side 
open to the air, and the other three sides uncertain whether 
or not to join at the comers. It is an equally curious com¬ 
position whose paragraphs are formless and incoherent, 
lacking both unity and completeness of thought. 

But to drop the analogy, what is a paragraph? We 
compared it to the major unit of a building because it 
is the major unit of a composition. More definitely, a 
paragraph is a group of related sentences developing a 
single thought. 

The first word of a paragraph, like the first word of a 
verse of poetry, is always placed on a new line. Further, 
that first word is always set in somewhat from the left 
margin, — an inch or so in handwriting, usually five spaces 
in typewriting. This indention is simply an arbitrary and 
mechanical device serving notice on the reader that a 
new thought is being introduced. 

Usually, because most naturally, that new thought is 
stated briefly in the first sentence of the paragraph, and 
then elaborated or developed in detail in the sentences 
that follow. Sometimes, in order to emphasize it by po¬ 
sition, the thought is summed up concisely in the last 
sentence of the paragraph. And at other times, in order 
to emphasize it by repetition, it is expressed succinctly 
in both the first and last sentences. Occasionally, too, 
the topic sentence is not definitely stated but simply im¬ 
plied. 


5 


6 


EXPOSITION 


These observations point clearly to two fundamental 
principles in composition, namely, first, that in good 
writing there is, and to avoid monotony ought to be, con¬ 
siderable variety in the structure of the paragraphs, and, 
second, that each of the paragraphs deals with one matter 
only. 

The essential characteristic of the paragraph is the 
elaboration of the thought expressed in the topic sentence. 
Every sentence expresses a complete thought. So also 
does every paragraph. The prime difference between 
them is this, that whereas the thought of a sentence is 
complete grammatically, the thought of a paragraph is 
complete rhetorically; that is, the thought of a paragraph 
is quite fully developed and explained through a number 
of sentences and so is complete in a larger sense. 

The extent to which a paragraph should be elaborated 
is determined by two considerations. One is the diffi¬ 
culty of the thought. Obviously the thought should be 
developed until it is clear to the reader. The other con¬ 
sideration is the relative importance of the paragraph 
to the whole composition of which it is a part. The elabo¬ 
ration should of course be in proportion to that im¬ 
portance. On these matters, no more definite rules can 
be laid down; the judgment of the writer must be his 
guide, and this in time and with practice will come to 
be generally trustworthy. 

Paragraphs vary in length between the extremes of 
single sentences and groups of sentences running over 
several pages. They average probably from one hundred 
and twenty-five to one hundred and fifty words — from a 
third to a half of one page in handwriting, from a quarter 
to a third of a page in typewriting. 

Noticeably long paragraphs are the result either of very 
complex or of very loose writing. They are avoided by 


SOMETHING ABOUT THE PARAGRAPH 7 

most good writers, because in the first place they are 
uninviting to the eye and in the second they are annoy¬ 
ingly difficult to read. 

On the other hand are single sentences as paragraphs. 
Technically, of course, such “paragraphs” are impossible 
by definition, and too many of them in a composition 
throw over it an air of childishness and immaturity. 
(Their wide use in newspapers is one reason why “journal¬ 
istic” is taken by craftsmen in writing as a term of re¬ 
proach.) They may be justified, however, if their use 
is based on either or both of two special considerations: 
first, the small scale of the particular composition, e.g., in 
a short theme; or second, the aptness of the extreme 
emphasis they achieve mechanically, e.g., as in the para¬ 
graph that follows. 

The two greatest virtues of the organic paragraph 
are unity and completeness; without these there can be 
no true paragraph. 


THE MIGHTY SENTENCE 


As the architect endeavors to express in the size and 
form of his building its essential use and meaning, so 
in each smaller unit, even to the hinges and handles of 
the doors, he seeks conformity to his general design. A 
single blank brick wall, unbroken by windows, would be 
appropriate to a warehouse but not to a home; while a 
wall cut up by windows here and windows there, a graceful 
chimney, and a sloping gable, would be appropriate to 
a home but not to a warehouse. To continue the analogy, 
the writer makes his paragraph fit his general design, 
employing, in place of the variants permitted to the archi¬ 
tect, long and short sentences, or sentences which we may 
better classify for our purposes as simple, loose, periodic, 
and balanced. Each of these serves a special purpose 
in its effect in a paragraph and deserves particular study. 

A simple sentence contains only one main clause with 
no subordinate clauses. It is usually short. Its purpose 
in exposition is to set off important ideas, to afford a 
transition between longer and more complex sentences, 
or, in groups of two or more, to give a rapid and staccato 
effect. Observe the following selection from Stevenson: 

“Of making books there is no end,” complained the Preacher; 
and did not perceive how highly he was praising letters as an 
occupation. There is no end, indeed, to making books or experi¬ 
ments, or to travel, or to gathering wealth. Problem gives rise 
to problem. We may study forever, and we are never as learned 
as we would. We have never made a statue worthy of our 
dreams. And when we have discovered a continent, or crossed 
a chain of mountains, it is only to find another ocean or another 

8 


THE MIGHTY SENTENCE 


9 

plain upon the further side. In the infinite universe there is 
room for our swiftest diligence and to spare. 

But rapid motion is not always desirable. In the 
structure of the architect’s wall there must be many plain 
substantial courses of brick which do the bulk of the 
work. In writing, these are the loose sentences: long, 
often compound sentences, in which the main statement 
comes first, followed by one or more additional clauses 
or phrases which add to the weight of meaning expressed 
at the beginning. A loose sentence may be brought to a 
halt at one or more places (with the meaning complete 
up to that point) before its end. The loose sentence is 
useful but it must not be used too frequently, or the 
result will be dullness and monotony. Here is an example 
of a plain, straightforward paragraph, loaded with mean¬ 
ing, and composed entirely of loose sentences. It is from 
Washington Irving: 

In some countries the large cities absorb the wealth and 
fashion of the nation; they are the only fixed abodes of elegant 
and intelligent society, and the country is inhabited almost 
entirely by boorish peasantry. In England, on the contrary, 
the metropolis is a mere gathering-place, or general rendezvous, 
of the polite classes, where they devote a small portion of the 
year to a hurry of gayety and dissipation, and, having indulged 
this kind of carnival, return again to the apparently more con¬ 
genial habits of rural life. The various orders of society are there¬ 
fore diffused over the whole surface of the kingdom, and the most 
retired neighborhoods afford specimens of the different ranks. 

The walls are going up. Here is one so planned as to 
carry the observer’s eye rapidly to an interesting element 
in the structure. Here is another made plain and solid, 
carrying the weight of heavy roof beams. And now we 
come to a third which, facing the street, impresses itself 


IO 


EXPOSITION 


on the observer, captures his attention, startles him, if 
need be, by its force. The builder may use an unusual 
window, a buttress, or an abrupt break in his normal 
design. The writer employs a periodic sentence. 

The periodic sentence consists of a complex sentence 
whose dependent clauses (and phrases) precede the main 
clause, so that the thought mounts rapidly to a climax, 
the most important element coming at the end. This 
structure is eloquent and vivid; it has somewhat the 
effect of a sharp blow. We may turn to I Corinthians 
for a simple illustration of this kind of sentence: 

Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and 
have not charity, I am become as sounding brass or a tinkling 
cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and under¬ 
stand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all 
faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have no charity, 
I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the 
poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not 
charity, it profiteth me nothing. 

The writer has still another method of producing a 
forceful effect — by the repetition of similar structural 
elements. This we call the balanced sentence, which is 
essentially a compound sentence whose two or more main 
clauses are alike in structure and either parallel or opposite 
in thought. Caesar’s famous ‘ ‘ I came, I saw, I conquered ’ ’ 
is really three sentences, alike in form, the second and third 
adding to the thought of the first. Bacon’s “Reading 
maketh a full man, conference a ready man, and writing 
an exact man” is three sentences alike in form but con¬ 
trasted in thought. Or we may offer this paragraph from 
Emerson: 

The theory of books is noble. The scholar of the first age 
received into him the world around; brooded thereon; gave it 


THE MIGHTY SENTENCE 


II 


the new arrangement of his own mind, and uttered it again. It 
came into him, life; it went out from him, truth. It came to 
him, short-lived actions; it went out from him, immortal 
thoughts. It came to him, business; it went from him, poetry. 
It was dead fact; now, it is quick thought. It can stand, and 
it can go. It now endures, it now flies, it now inspires. Pre¬ 
cisely in proportion to the depth of mind from which it issued, 
so high does it soar, so long does it sing. 

The sentence must be suited to the thought. To add 
variety to your work, use, if you will, a number of sentence 
structures, but study each sentence to see whether it 
is the best for the particular thought you are expressing. 
Do not build up prosaic and commonplace thoughts into 
periodic sentences; conversely, do not bury your most 
important and emphatic thoughts in long, loose sentences. 
You are the builder; it is for you to decide which are 
your most important thoughts, and what sentence struc¬ 
tures you will use to display them to the best advantage. 


THE CONCRETE WORD 

If you were building a brick house you would choose 
for your work only good, firm, well-baked bricks, sharp 
in outline and uniformly deep in color. Certainly you 
would not mix in formless lumps of clay. A similar 
principle of selection holds true of a piece of writing. 
You should choose only sharp, clear, solid words, whose 
meaning is definite and unmistakable. Just as the use 
of lumps of unbaked clay would result in a weak house, 
so the use of vague, general words results in a weak 
composition. 

Concrete words are those which are precise and accurate 
in their meanings. They carry their meaning through 
sound, feeling, or association. Smooth , for example, is a 
smooth word; say it aloud and see how it slips from your 
tongue. But harsh, grating acrid is not so easy to say. 
Hollow has the sound of a fist beating on an empty barrel. 
You say hard , and your tongue rises to the roof of your 
mouth to snap off the final d , but you pronounce easy 
and the word slides out pleasantly between your tongue 
and your teeth. Yellow brings to your mind a vague im¬ 
pression of a color, but yellow as maple leaves in fall calls 
up a definite picture. Cherry-red , apple-red , and brick-red 
probably evoke pictures for you, while cerise , carmine , 
magenta , and henna may mean nothing at all. Speak of the 
buzz of a bee and you are unconsciously imitating the noise 
of its vibrating wings. Speak of the rattle of an automo¬ 
bile, the clang of a bell, the crash of an accident, the bang 
of an explosion, the squeak of a rusty hinge, and you are 
using words that approximate the sound described. Speak 
12 


THE CONCRETE WORD 


13 


of tongues of flame, box-like houses, or rolling hills, and you 
have pictured shapes. Write of apple-red cheeks, corn- 
colored hair, and sea-green eyes, and you have pictured 
color — and what a combination! Or write of smooth 
pavements ground by the crushing wheels of heavy trucks, 
and you have appealed to your reader’s sense of touch. 
For these are concrete words. 

Vague words, or words used out of their exact sense, 
lack strength and clarity. Tell your reader that the 
weather was grand, and he has an impression of pomp and 
circumstance, the bannered trees standing like gorgeous 
sentinels and the wind trumpeting over the hills, — when 
you may have meant merely that the sun shone all day. 
Likewise, weather is never fine or nice. The point of a 
needle may be fine , or you may have a nice taste in coffee. 
But it is not awful or terrible to use such words incorrectly; 
it is merely bad judgment. In your moment of depression 
complain that life is a tenebrous vacuum giving forth 
cavernous sounds , and your listener will not be moved; 
but tell him that life is an empty cave resounding with 
hollow groans , and he may be properly impressed. And 
the language of the “lowbrow” — current slang — is no 
more meaningful to the general reader than that of the 
“highbrow. ” 

Too often the complaint is made, “I know what to say, 
but I don’t know how to say it.” The first part of this 
statement is false: the complainant does not know what 
to say; he has only general impressions, not specific 
knowledge. He knows many words, but he does not know 
what they mean. We normally think in words; when we 
lack precise understanding of words, we lack precision 
in thought. Thought and expression go hand in hand, 
and vagueness of thought produces vagueness of phrase. 
The student who, in an attempt at criticism, says only 


14 


EXPOSITION 


“This is a good book” or “It is simple and easy to under¬ 
stand,” may think that he has formulated a complete 
criticism, but he has done nothing at all. He has not 
thought, because he has no tools, that is, words, to think 
with. 

Again, obscurity often results from attempts to be im¬ 
pressive, eloquent, or witty. “Fine writing,” “journal¬ 
ese,” “jargon,” are terms often applied to such attempts. 
The use of stupendous spectacle for big show indicates a 
foolish desire to dazzle the reader; the use of garnered 
in a touchdown for made a touchdown is a vice of the 
would-be-witty sports writer; in the case of , along this 
line, and to no avail are common expressions resorted to 
by the lazy-minded. Remote, half-understood, vague 
words, piled loosely together like so many half-baked 
bricks, produce nearly meaningless sentences. But sharply 
defined, exact words, used correctly in their proper places, 
form useful sentences which cannot be misunderstood. 

Writing is a conscious process, as laborious as day 
labor, as precise as machine work. It is a craft which 
builds up words into sentences, sentences into paragraphs, 
and paragraphs into whole compositions. But the best 
of sentence or paragraph structure fails of effect if the 
word choice is not somewhere near perfection. Don’t 
spend too much time on enlarging your vocabulary; don’t 
go hunting widely for new bricks; use those you have in 
their proper places — each word in its exact meaning, 
its precise relationship to the words that go with it. 
The only purpose of expository writing is to state clearly, 
simply, and briefly, exactly what you mean. 


POINTED PUNCTUATION 


According to our analogy, the different marks of punctu¬ 
ation are comparable to bolts, screws, nails, and similar 
materials and devices, because they hold other and larger 
building elements in their proper places. They are in¬ 
dispensable, of course; and yet, from our point of view, 
few or no rules can be given for their use. You would 
promptly dismiss a bricklayer who, laying brick for the 
front wall of your house, used no mortar between the 
bricks, and just as promptly you would discharge a car¬ 
penter who essayed to put down your flooring without 
nails. On the other hand, you would hardly presume to 
tell the carpenter whether he should use one nail or two 
in any given place, or the mason whether two trowels 
of mortar or one: you would properly look to the sound¬ 
ness of the finished job and to the deftness of the work¬ 
manship. 

In other words, handbook rules for punctuation, like 
other rules generally, are no more than short-cuts or 
rules-of-thumb for beginners. Of course, you must master 
them thoroughly at the outset; but ease and force in the 
use of punctuation will be yours only after rules have 
become (as such) simply half-forgotten steps in your 
progress in writing craftsmanship. 

Punctuation is the means by which you achieve, for 
example, what is known technically as a balanced sentence. 
Thus Emerson’s “ It came into him, life; it went out from 
him, truth,” a beautifully balanced sentence, is made so 
partly by the semicolon after “life.” The sentence might 
have been written as two sentences, thus: “It came to 
i5 


i6 


EXPOSITION 


him, life. It went out from him, truth.” But see what 
would have been lost! 

Similar points you will observe for yourself in your 
reading, if for a while you become “ punctuation-con¬ 
scious,” as a student of composition should. Look into 
the “why” of any punctuation that for a moment gives 
you pause; see for yourself that punctuation is an integral 
factor in the effectiveness of writing; is not something 
put in, arbitrarily, after the job is completed; but, rather, 
is a constantly valuable means of expression that is as im¬ 
portant as your very words themselves. Once you have 
come really to understand and appreciate this fundamental 
truth, and to be guided by it, your punctuation will take 
on a quality of significance and vitality that will delight 
you — and your reader, too. 


INTRODUCTIONS 


On at least one fundamental point in rhetoric all critics, 
teachers, and writers are agreed. That point is this: 
Every good prose composition consists of three parts: 
a beginning, a middle, and an end. Seems so obvious as 
to be almost absurd to say, doesn’t it? On the con¬ 
trary, however, it is really profound, and not until you 
firmly grasp it in theory and regularly apply it in practice 
are you surely on the way to clear, effective, and com¬ 
mendable writing. Think of it again, expressed in slightly 
different words: Every good prose composition consists 
of three parts: first, the introduction; second, the body 
or main text; and third, the conclusion. 

This book is devoted to laboratory problems in the 
chief divisions of exposition. The endeavor of the authors, 
in each of the several exercises, is to work through a prob¬ 
lem under your eyes, indicating the guiding principles of 
procedure as they are made use of in actual practice. In 
almost all cases notice is taken of introductions and con¬ 
clusions, but that notice is for the most part incidental; 
the main emphasis is of course upon the development 
of the text proper. These present remarks, on the con¬ 
trary, are concerned entirely with introductions and con¬ 
clusions. 

An introduction, according to one excellent authority, 
is simply “a preliminary statement made by an author 
or speaker in explanation of the subject or design of his 
writing or discourse.” From this definition two obvious 
principles may be deduced: first, an introduction is pre¬ 
liminary to the main text and not essentially a part of it; 

17 


i8 


EXPOSITION 


and second, it explains or leads up to the main text 
but does not go into it. It follows that a number of in¬ 
troductions might be written for the same text. 

These generalizations become more meaningful and 
helpful if pondered in the light of specific examples. Here, 
for illustration, are a number of introductions written 
by trained freshmen. Some of the introductions, you 
will observe, read like the beginnings of short essays; 
others read like the beginnings of speeches. These intro¬ 
ductions are reproduced here exactly as they were written 
in class; many of them, therefore, contain slips or errors 
of one sort or another; but all of them are of some degree 
of merit for what they are — introductions to an im¬ 
promptu class theme on How to Review for an Examina¬ 
tion. 

1. Without a doubt one of the most dreaded of all the tasks 
befronting the average student is the taking of examinations. 
But from experience I have found out that preparing for an 
examination is a greater task than taking the examination 
itself. Unless one is exceedingly brilliant it is necessary that 
he review the material that the examination is to cover. There 
are two ways to prepare for an examination: first, the hit-and- 
skip method; and secondly, the systematic method. The hit- 
and-skip is, as the name implies, a poor method and should 
never be used. I will discuss a systematic method which is, 
without a doubt, the better of the two. 

— W. A. SCHROER 

2. Why review for an examination? You say that the instructor 
should know your ability before you come to take an examina¬ 
tion and that examinations are often unfair and not a just test 
of your ability. Whether you consider exams good or bad you 
will be called on for them in the university. Since many of 
you plan to enter the university and will find there that some 
instructors count from one-third to one-half of your grade on 
your final examination mark, it behooves you to know some- 


INTRODUCTIONS 


19 


thing about reviewing. You may not think that a second 

quarter freshman should presume to instruct you but when he 

tells you that he lowered two grades by poor finals, for which 

he thought he was adequately prepared, you will see that he 

speaks as one who has investigated a bit. _ „ _ 

— G. H. Bonnell 


3. One of the most serious problems of a freshman in college is 
how to study for an examination. Examinations are not given 
in Zanesville High School and this will make it doubly hard 
for a student who enters college after graduating from this 
school. There are various ways of reviewing, but in my esti¬ 
mation there is only one good way. I will try to explain that 
way to you, and I hope that all of you will profit by my past 

experience - -P. C. LeFevre 


4. Many methods of study present themselves to a student 
desiring to approach an examination with a quiet heart and a 
full mind. Perhaps none of us will ever know the exact number 
since all of us have our own ideas. On the spur of the moment 
my mind retains the impression of one method, sometimes sug- 

gested ‘ — W. G. Tinkler 


5. Since examinations are frequent, and so much depends upon 
them, it is of vital importance for every student to be able to 
make a thorough preparation for them. This is even truer in 
college than in high school because in college so much more 
work is covered in a shorter time. Therefore, the best time to 
learn how to make a thorough preparation for an examination 

is now. — Georgina Hickerson 

6. The first final examinations are a bugbear for any freshman. 
He must go into his preparation without guidance, and he 
often obtains fearful results. However, by the end of the second 
quarter, he has replaced “cramming” by a systematic review. 

— Clare Adams 


20 


EXPOSITION 


7. Have you ever seen an irritated and confused person around 

the campus at examination time? It is none other than a first 

quarter freshman, anticipating his first college examination. 

He is extremely nervous and usually asks, “How should I 

review for an examination? ” TT . __ 

— V. A. Hyde 


8. Every student has his own particular method of reviewing 
for an examination, and that way which is useful to some, may 
be of little value to others. Although the following suggested 
way of studying for an exam may seem somewhat long and 
tedious, it is a good one — especially if the student has a poor 

memory. —Marybelle Shoemaker 


CONCLUSIONS 


Like the introduction, the conclusion of a composition 
is at once integral with, and separable from, the main 
text. As the introduction is the approach to the body 
of the paper, so the conclusion is the leave-taking; and 
as there may be a number of different approaches, so 
there may be a number of different leave-takings. The 
conclusion, like the introduction, may be either formal 
or informal in manner, and either light or serious in 
tone. Often — and here it differs markedly from an 
introduction — it simply sums up the several points that 
have been made. More rarely, it rounds off the discus¬ 
sion with a somewhat philosophical generalization, the 
outgrowth of the facts or ideas presented in the body of 
the essay. Occasionally, too, it is utilized by the writer 
for such personal observations as he may have studiously 
avoided in his large general analysis. 

And now again we may sharpen the point of general¬ 
izations by illustrative material. Following are some 
faithfully copied conclusions from the same group of class- 
written themes on How to Review for an Examination. 
Observe that, in one way or another, and with varying 
degrees of adroitness, they do complete, round off, and 
satisfactorily conclude the discussions. 

i. So, in reviewing for your examination, remember three 
things: to thoroughly study your notes, to study chapter and 
paragraph headings of the textbook, and to study by yourself. 
By reviewing in this manner, you should gain a thorough 
knowlege of the subject, and, consequently, get a worth-while 
grade on the exam. _ T T p 


21 


22 


EXPOSITION 


2. The paper one writes on a final examination is a mirror or 
reflection of the knowledge gained during the course by the 
student. Do not be afraid of them; they are helpful and are 
designed for your benefit, not your doom. 

— Edythe J. Needham 


3. When you students graduate and go to college, I hope that 
you will try to follow my plan for reviewing, or devise a better 
one. In college it’s what you know, and you must be able to 
express yourself in writing; therefore, a full understanding of 
the subject of review is required. _^ ^ LeFevre 


4. I have presented to you the schedule which I follow in study¬ 
ing for an examination. Try it if you wish. I hope it will be of 
value to you. Good luck in your next examination! 

— Edna Blackburn 

5. Perhaps you have a better way. To me this way seems best. 

Whatever your method of preparation may be, its object must 

be a thorough mastery of the subject and the ensuing confidence 

and clearness of mind. _ TT _ 

— G. H. Bonnell 


6. Examinations are for the purpose of discovering what the 
student knows, not a means of keeping him up all night. If he 
takes good notes and studies them well, even the lowliest fresh¬ 
man should be able to eat and sleep normally without fear of 
making a dismal failure. Let the student follow my words of 
wisdom and his Mama and Papa will beam upon their Phi Beta 

■ Kappa ’ — Clare Adams 

7. If you follow the suggestions I have outlined, and have con¬ 
scientiously prepared your daily work, you should have little 
trouble in securing a good grade on the examination. 

— W. L. Hildebrand 


CONCLUSIONS 


23 


8 . This method may not help any particular student in his 
study but I hope and pray (fervently) that it may come to the 
knowledge of many. I, in my feeble way, have tried to make 
use of it; I succeeded — miserably. Now I am passing it on, 
hoping that the next person will have brains enough to study 
the outline after he makes it. I forgot to! 

— W. G. Tinkler 


TRANSITIONS 


Turning away from introductions and conclusions, let 
us now direct our attention to transitions. A transition , 
as those of you who know Latin are already aware, is 
literally a “going across.” The word as a term in rhetoric 
holds closely to this essential meaning. 

This time let us reverse the usual order of our pro¬ 
cedure and study examples first and theory afterwards, 
the examples being three complete and accurately tran¬ 
scribed themes from an already familiar group. 

HOW TO REVIEW FOR AN EXAMINATION 

Along about the end of each quarter a student begins to 
wonder just how he can make the most of his time in reviewing 
for the final examinations. Unless you are a genius, you will 
find that reviewing in one form or another is an absolute neces¬ 
sity ; for examinations are practically the only way an instructor 
has to grade you. After all, grades are not everything; but a 
good many industrial companies make it a point to get students 
who stood in the upper third of their class. I firmly believe 
that the way in which you review is a matter of personal opin¬ 
ion, but I have a method that so far has managed to pull me 
through several examinations. 

I find that there are just two ways of reviewing. The first 
of these is to review directly from the textbook. In most 
subjects it is impossible to reread the whole text in a few hours 
— especially in history and economics where the books have 
five hundred pages of fine print and usually a thousand more 
pages of outside reading. Consequently, it is best to scan 
through the text, noting carefully paragraph and chapter head¬ 
ings. When you arrive at a heading that means nothing to you, 

24 


TRANSITIONS 


25 


read that paragraph or even the whole chapter. This is obvi¬ 
ously a rather tedious process, and one is quite likely to place 
too much emphasis on unimportant parts of the text. 

The second method of review is to go over all the notes you 
have taken in the course — both in the classroom and outside. 
By reviewing from notes, you get both the text’s and the in¬ 
structor’s points of view; and if you have any note-taking 
ability, your notes will deal essentially with the more important 
points. 

There is, however, one distinct disadvantage in reviewing 
from notes in that you hit the main points, but the proper 
amount of detail is lacking. For this reason I find that a com¬ 
bination of both the text and the notes is the most effective 
way of reviewing. The notes furnish the high points of the 
course; and when your knowledge of the detail under one of 
these points is rather weak, refer to the text and establish the 
essential facts in your mind. 

To me this method is the simplest and most efficient method 
of review. Even if you do not adopt it, I sincerely hope that 
what I have said will be of some assistance to you. As a parting 
word let me urge you to take complete notes from the begin¬ 
ning of your course to the end. This note-taking is especially 
necessary when in class, for most instructors lecture from an 
outline and make up their examination questions from it. Con¬ 
sequently, if you have the facts of this outline well established, 
you need not fear any examination which your teacher can give. 

Observe in this theme, at the end of the first para¬ 
graph and beginning of the second, how easily the writer 
passes from the introduction to the main text. 

Observe, too, that the first sentence of the second 
paragraph prepares the way both for the second sentence, 
which announces the first main point developed in the 
next three sentences, and also for the first sentence which 
states the second main point, enlarged upon in the follow¬ 
ing sentence. 


26 


EXPOSITION 


Observe also that the word “however” in the first 
sentence of the fourth paragraph, and indeed the whole 
sentence, paves the way for the assertion of the third main 
point (the most important point) in the next sentence, 
and for the expansion of it in the sentence after that. 

^Observe finally how naturally the conclusion follows 
after the body of the theme, and especially how adroitly 
the writer has worked in a “parting word” (really another 
point) on the necessity of complete notes. 

HOW TO REVIEW FOR AN EXAMINATION 

There comes a day of reckoning at the end of every course, 
when we are compelled to display our knowledge, or the lack of 
it, in a final examination. To prepare for this momentous test 
is, then, no small matter. The most effective preparation is a 
systematic review of the course, assuming, of course, that the 
student has studied consistently throughout the term. I have 
found that the following method of review has helped me the 
most in preparing for an examination. 

First, I glance rapidly over the material given in the text. In 
this way, I secure a general impression of the whole course; 
and, if there is any definite trend of events, I have a very con¬ 
crete foundation for the details which are to follow. 

Then, I open my notebook and study the notes I have taken. 
It is very important that I study them carefully, for often 
the instructor has placed special emphasis upon certain facts. 
The notes afford me, also, a general outline of the main facts. 
My notes, hence, are an indispensable part of every review. 
Before I proceed with the next part of the review, however, 
I discard them, for they will no longer be of any assistance. 

Now I start at the beginning of the textbook and read, as 
rapidly as possible, clear through it. Each main fact that I 
see is recorded in an outline; and with it I write all correlative 
details and observations which I am able to find in the text. 
I study this outline thoroughly, for it clarifies the facts and 
places them in proper sequence in my head. 


TRANSITIONS 


27 


After I have completed this review, I am ready for the exam¬ 
ination. The merit of my method of review seems to lie in its 
provision of a general impression, the main points and their 
specific details, and finally, the organization of knowledge is 
the prerequisite of success in all examinations. 

In the first theme the writer chose to place his three 
chief points in one paragraph. The writer of this second 
theme has taken a different course: his three chief points 
he has put into three separate paragraphs (the second, 
third, and fourth). Either course is commendable if 
the writer brings it off successfully; but the latter course 
is more obvious, and therefore is, on the whole, a bit safer. 

Note here too that the passage from the introduction 
to the main text is carefully planned and easily accom¬ 
plished. 

Note also that the three paragraphs stating and de¬ 
veloping the three chief points are begun with words 
that very definitely indicate the fact that forward steps 
are being taken in the progressive evolution of the thought: 
“First, I glance . . “Then, I open . . “Now I 
start . . .” 

Note further how neatly the conclusion is tied up with 
the main text by the phrase “this review.” 

HOW TO REVIEW FOR A FINAL EXAMINATION 

Mr. Jones has asked me to speak to you today on the subject, 
“How to Review for a Final Examination.” Many of you will 
be going to college next fall, and when the end of the quarter 
or semester arrives, you will be faced with the inevitable final 
examinations. Of course, I have been attending Ohio State 
University only two quarters, but I feel that I have obtained 
some experience which may be helpful to you. 

During my first quarter, I learned that it is advisable to 
begin to prepare for the final examinations on the first day of 


28 


EXPOSITION 


school. The best way to do this is to make outline notes on 
outside readings, and especially on lectures, on important and 
stressed points only, thus cutting down the amount of notes 
you will have to review at the end of the quarter. I say stressed 
points, because sometimes the instructor will stress a certain 
point, not because it is important, but because it is his hobby. 
For instance, in my geography class last quarter, every time 
we discussed an area where peanuts could be grown, the instruc¬ 
tor mentioned the fact that peanuts were grown there. In our 
final examination, one of the questions was: “Name five areas 
where peanuts are grown.” Was that important? 

If you have taken notes as I have outlined, at the end of the 
quarter, instead of “cramming,” as most of us did in high 
school, all you have to do is review your notes a day or two 
before the examination, and check up on points on which you 
are not clear. If possible, cooperate with another person who 
is taking the same subject and review his notes; he may have 
taken some you overlooked. I think that it is always a good 
idea to concentrate on the material covered since the last mid¬ 
term, because I have found that at least fifty per cent of the 
questions in a final examination are taken from the last month’s 
material. 

The method I have outlined above may not give you perfect 
grades in all your subjects, but if you follow this method, you 
will be able to give the professor an idea of the knowledge you 
have acquired while under his instruction. Remember that 
one of the prime requisites for a good grade in a final examina¬ 
tion is a clear, alert mind, so do your best to get eight hours 
sleep before you take the examination. 

At the conclusion of the introductory paragraph of 
this theme, the writer states that in the matter of examina¬ 
tions he has had “some experience.” See how effectively, 
yet unobtrusively the opening of the second paragraph is 
linked with this “experience”: “During my first quarter, 
I learned that ...” 

What he learned was that it is wise, regarding both 


TRANSITIONS 


29 


lectures and outside readings, to take notes. He enlarges 
upon this by describing fully the kind of notes he has found 
most valuable; but he makes his transition to the next 
paragraph turn on the key idea of just notes: 4 ‘If you 
have taken notes . . 

His conclusion glances first backward, to the “method 
. . . outlined above,” and then forward, to the parting 
caution “Remember . . 

And now in conclusion a word or two of general counsel 
about transitions: Keep in mind, as an ideal, unobtrusive 
and skillfully smooth transitions, such as those approxi¬ 
mated in the third theme, and try steadily to achieve 
them in practice. But make sure, in all the expository 
writing that you undertake henceforth, to mark your 
transitions clearly. If the best you can think of is simply 
“to begin with,” “next,” “then,” and “finally,” or even 
if that best is merely “first,” “second,” “third,” and so 
on, use it, by all means, in order to be as unmistakably 
clear as you can be. For clarity is exposition’s prime 
virtue. 


OUTLINES 


Themes good structurally are not like Topsy: they 
don’t “just grow.” On the contrary, their form is a 
virtue achieved quite consciously and deliberately. And, 
happily, good form and structure in expository writing 
can be achieved by any purposeful student. 

First, usually, you separate the subject proper from 
matter related to it but not fundamental — matter that 
frequently serves well, later, for the introduction and con¬ 
clusion of your paper. Then you mull the subject over 
in your mind until you perceive its chief elements or 
divisions. Then you mull over these divisions until they, 
too, fall into smaller elements. When you come to the 
end of this process of division and subdivision, you simply 
write out the results of your thinking in outline form, 
taking care to arrange your points in the order of increas¬ 
ing importance. 

Another method of achieving an outline is first to take 
an “inventory” of all that comes into your mind on your 
subject, jotting the points down on a large sheet of paper; 
next to study the items of the inventory until you per¬ 
ceive what seems to you to be the best order of treating 
them; and then to write this out in outline form. 

Outlines may be classified as either topical outlines 
or sentence outlines. An example of a topical outline is 
to be seen on pp. 52-53 of this book. Most of the outlines 
in this book, however, are sentence outlines — such, for 
instance, as those on pp. 31 and 32. Beginning writers are 
wise to avoid topic outlines and to use only sentence out¬ 
lines, because flaws in thinking show up more quickly in 
30 


OUTLINES 


31 


sentence outlines, and also because the task of writing 
a theme or paper is much more easily performed on 
the basis of a sentence outline, for all of the key sentences, 
so far as substance is concerned, are there in order before 
them in a sentence outline. 

Following are two outlines prepared extemporaneously 
in class, on the now familiar subject of How to Review for 
an Examination. Observe that both of them are sentence 
outlines, and also that both are in proper outline form, 
with main headings and subheadings conventionally indi¬ 
cated and indented. 


* Outline i 

I. Introduction: 

A. Many of you will be going to college. 

1. Everyone must take examinations. 

B. My experience, though limited, may be helpful. 

II. Method of preparation for a final examination: 

A. Begin to prepare for your final examination on the 

first day of school. 

1. Take notes on important and stressed points only. 

2. Take notes on all outside readings, but rely mostly 

on lecture notes. 

B. Study your notes a day or two before examination. 

1. If possible, cooperate with another person taking 

the same subject. 

2. Investigate every hazy point. 

3. Concentrate on material covered since the last mid¬ 

term. 

III. Conclusion: 

A. This method may not give perfect grades but it will 

help. 

B. A clear, alert mind is a requisite for a good grade. 


32 


EXPOSITION 


Outline 2 

I. Introduction: 

A. Reviewing for an examination is an absolute necessity. 

B. The way in which the review is carried on is a matter 

of personal opinion. 

II. Body: 

A. I find that there are two ways of reviewing which are: 

1. By means of the text or texts, and 

2. By means of notes. 

B. The best method, however, is a combination of both 

notes and text. 

III. Conclusion: 

A. I hope that this talk will be of some assistance to you 

in the future. 

B. As a parting word, let me urge you to begin to take 

complete notes as soon as your classes start. 


Part II: Formal Procedures in 

Exposition 







CHAPTER ONE 


THINGS, METHODS, AND 
MECHANISMS 

Facts necessarily precede ideas. An inquiring mind, 
seeking to estimate the values of life, to build up a system 
of living, to relate itself to the world, must deal first of 
all with the simplest forms of fact: what things are, how 
they come into existence, and how they work or are used. 
Consequently the following theme problems are important 
not merely as tools for use in college courses but also as 
aids in the development of one’s precision in dealing with 
commonplace matters. Such precision is the mark of 
the educated man. 

You may not care in the least to know the answer to 
such questions as What is protoplasm? or What is a 
heroic poem ? You may not be interested in such a process 
as electric welding. Or you may feel that such mechanisms 
as cream separators or radio tubes should be kept in their 
proper places, their workings unexplained. But if you 
seek a true education you must be concerned with such 
matters: they are the stuff of modem life. In a vague 
way you are already fairly well qualified to deal with your 
environment. You probably have a hazy understanding 
of most of the things, processes, and mechanisms upon 
which modem life depends. But the educated man knows 
accurately, thinks accurately, and writes and speaks ac¬ 
curately. And his curiosity is never satisfied. 


35 


i. WHAT IT IS 


Of all the special kinds of exposition, that which is 
most often demanded of a college student is definition. 
“What is so-and-so?” query your instructors, time and 
time again. Or, using different words but asking for sub¬ 
stantially the same matter, they may say, “Discuss the 
subject of this-and-that.” In whatever form the question 
may be put to you, you will be wise always to begin your 
answer with a definition, for satisfactory definitions are, 
or ought to be, the prime basis of every discussion, the 
starting point of any disquisition. 

Definitions are in general of two kinds: first, those 
which define formally, closely, and accurately; and, 
second, those which define informally, not so closely, 
and less accurately — or accurately in another and dif¬ 
ferent sense. We shall here consider only the formal 
definition, first in its essential nature, then afterwards in 
its acceptable literary form. 

One familiar dictionary definition of definition is this: 
“A description or explanation of a word or thing by its 
attributes, properties, or relations, that distinguishes it 
from all other things.” This definition may appear to be 
so broad as to be practically meaningless, but it will 
become clearer as you ponder it in the light of what 
follows. 

A definition proceeds by placing the thing to be de¬ 
fined, the species, within the next larger class of similar 
things, the genus, and then by pointing out its specific 
differences from all the things in that next larger class, 
that is, its distinguishing characteristics, its dijjerentice. 

36 


WHAT IT IS 


37 


Thus the species of flower known as tulip is defined as 
“any of a genus (Tulipa) of liliaceous plants having a large 
showy flower.’’ This is typical of the extreme in formal 
definition: the definition is as close as possible, that is, 
the genus is the smallest that will contain the species; 
and it is also as accurate as possible, that is, the differentia 
belongs solely to the species named. Such strictly formal 
definitions, which are the basis of science, are in one sense 
very difficult to make, because they require minute and 
faithful observation. 

But even less formal definitions of this general type re¬ 
quire a deal of observation, and also a deal of effort to 
bring that observation to a focus. Consider this: A shoe 
(species) is the ordinary outer covering (genus) of the human 
foot (differentia). Observe what happens if you modify 
the species: A brake-shoe (species) is a shoe (genus) that 
retards motion by friction (differentia). Now, on your 
own, try to define hat , then opera hat. 

Only in scientific writing is the strictly formal or semi- 
formal definition satisfactory in itself. In any other kind 
of writing it is unsatisfactory, bald, and lifeless. So, for 
all literary purposes (and this includes quizzes and exami¬ 
nations), the formal definition needs to be developed at 
some length: to be introduced, to be explained and ex¬ 
panded (perhaps in part by illustrations), and finally to 
be brought to a conclusion. 

To illustrate. Suppose we choose to write a definition 
of book. The dictionary informs us that a book is “a 
number of sheets of paper bound or stitched together.” 
This opens the way to considering all that may be com¬ 
prised in the definition, and we think not only of books 
as we generally know them but also of books of checks, 
of blank books, even of books of matches. We look further 
into the dictionary definition: “especially a printed or 


EXPOSITION 


38 

bound volume.” Still the door is not closed against 
account books or notebooks, but books as we are familiar 
with them are more definitely indicated. Yet even these 
are not as simple as one might at first suppose — as we 
shall find either by examining one, or by talking with a 
printer of books, or even by reading the proper article in, 
say, a good encyclopaedia. The parts of a book are several, 
and each has its use and name; and all of this information, 
while not strictly called for in a problem in definition, 
will fall in with it very fittingly. Further reflection on 
the subject will call up associated ideas, and some of these 
we may profitably make use of in our definition — per¬ 
haps, in this case, thoughts on the beauty and value 
of artistic bindings. All that now remains is to determine 
a means (an idea) by which to introduce our subject to 
the reader, and another means (another idea) by which 
to take our leave. 

When all our material has been collected we may arrange 
it according to a definite order and work out an outline for 
our composition. Its form will be something like this: 

I. Introduction: 

A. The dictionary gives too brief a definition. 

B. There may be many kinds of books, but we are con¬ 

cerned with only one. 

II. Analysis: 

A. The smallest part of a book is a page. 

1. A page is one side of a leaf. 

B. A leaf is a part of a folded sheet. 

1. The sheet, after it is folded, is called a signature. 

C. A number of signatures sewn together form the body 

of the book. 

1. According to the number of times a sheet is folded 
to make a signature, the volume is called folio, 
quarto, octavo, etc. 


WHAT IT IS 


39 


D. The body is contained within the case, or cover; 

1. It is held to the case by a hinge; 

2. The hinge is covered by end papers. 

E. The binding is the cover of the case. 

i. It may be of paper, cloth, leather, etc. 

III. Conclusion: 

A. Good bookmaking is a complete handcraft. 

The theme will be as follows: 

BOOKS 

From the dictionary we learn that a book is “a number of 
sheets of paper bound or stitched together; especially a printed 
or bound volume.” From the first part of this definition it fol¬ 
lows that there may be many kinds of books: reference books, 
textbooks, novels, books of poetry, and, more loosely, note¬ 
books, blank books, account books, check books, and even 
“books” of matches. All of these answer the literal definition, 
but differ among themselves in their substance and uses. We 
are concerned only with those volumes which are both printed 
and bound. 

The smallest part of a book is a page, which is one side of a 
leaf. The leaf, in turn, is part of a folded sheet upon which 
the pages have been printed. A number of such folded sheets, 
called signatures, are sewn together to form the body of the 
book. According to the number of times the sheet has been 
folded to make a signature, the volume is called a folio, quarto, 
octavo, duodecimo, or sextodecimo. The body of the book is 
held within the case, or cover, by cloth hinges, which are covered 
with end papers at the front and back. The binding, which 
beautifies and protects the case, is usually of paper, cloth, 
leather, or fabrikoid, and may be made the vehicle for either 
simple or elaborate designs. 

Not all modern books are cheap products of soulless machines. 
Bookmaking in the best sense is a high form of craftsmanship, 
and beautifully han dm ade books are to be cherished as works 
of art. 


40 


EXPOSITION 


Student Themes 


A GUN 

Anyone who has been an occasional visitor to the movies 
during the past few years knows what a gun is. Any movie 
goer knows that it is the compact, sinister weapon so well 
handled by the gangster. But few people have any knowledge 
of the gun beyond the fact that it has a barrel and a trigger. 

By general definition a gun is a piece of ordnance for throw- 
ing projectiles by the force of some explosive. Thus there may 
be a wide variety of designs for these pieces of ordnance. There 
are revolvers, automatic pistols, rifles, shotguns, carbines, ma¬ 
chine guns, rapid-fire guns, howitzers, and mortars. All these 
various types conform to the broad definition, but in the mili¬ 
tary sense, some are placed in more specific classifications. To 
the artilleryman a howitzer is a cannon having a comparatively 
short bore, while a gun is a piece of ordnance of greater length 
of bore and ability to hurl the projectile a longer range at a 
greater velocity. 

The true gun, according to the original sense of the word, is 
a cannon of long bore, designed for firing a projectile of high 
velocity and great penetrating power. In this strict interpreta¬ 
tion the modem gun consists of a rifled tube, or bore, the gun 
chamber, where the explosive is set off, the breech, the breech 
mechanism, and the carriage. Various devices are employed 
to direct the fire of the gun and other mechanism is used to 
absorb the recoil, or shock of the explosion. But a cannon of 
this type is not the ordinary conception of a gun. 

In the popular sense a gun is a portable firearm, such as a 
revolver, a rifle, or a shotgun. While ordnance in general has 
been the agency in distributing much misery, the lighter fire¬ 
arms have afforded recreation to large numbers of people. 
Pistol and rifle clubs have been formed in all sections of the 
country. Hunters armed with shotguns pursue small game 
wherever it may be found. Men travel long distances that they 
may hunt large game such as deer and moose. 

Gunmaking may seem to be a prosaic matter of pouring 


WHAT IT IS 


41 


steel into molds, but the turning out of fine shotguns is an art. 
One has only to see some of the finely wrought barrels and 
wonderfully carved gunstocks to be convinced that a fine gun 
is something to be cherished as an example of excellent work¬ 
manship and artistic design. _ _ 

— George Bonnell 

WHAT IS A MOLECULE? 

Actually intangible yet so intimately concerned with our 
very existence as to be the essence of our being — that may be 
said about the molecule. 

If one were to continue the division of a grain of salt into 
constantly smaller and smaller particles, going far beyond the 
range of the microscope, one should eventually reach a point 
beyond which he could not go without, through chemical means, 
breaking up these tiny particles into atoms of their constituent 
elements. These smallest particles, which will still retain the 
properties of salt and beyond which division cannot go without 
chemical decomposition, are molecules. 

No one in his wildest dreams would ever have conceived that 
chemists could determine the actual shape of particles so small 
that the largest probably possesses a diameter far less than the 
one, two hundred fifty millionth part of an inch. These parti¬ 
cles are far smaller than the very light waves by which we see, 
so small that we can never hope to catch a glimpse of them in 
the very best of modem microscopes. And yet their shape has 
actually been determined. The little planetary electrons, of 
which atoms are composed, mutually repel each other, and 
consequently take up places, in making up the atom, equi¬ 
distant from each other, and so give the atom a definite shape, 
for it must not be supposed that these electrons are motionless. 
Quite the contrary. We know that they are whirling with 
enormous speeds, almost with the velocity of light itself, round 
little orbits about fixed points on the atom, caused by the ex¬ 
tremely complex forces of attraction and repulsion present. 

In regard to the size of molecules, perhaps it would be best 
to understand that before we can see an object it must reflect 


42 


EXPOSITION 


to us the light by which we see it. Objects which reflect no 
light are invisible. Now a grain of sand will not reflect an 
ocean wave because the grain of sand is too small in respect to 
the wave. The wave simply embraces the sand and passes on. 
In the same way particles much smaller than the waves of light 
will not reflect them at all and so cannot be seen in the strongest 
microscrope. We can never hope therefore to see directly a 
particle so small as a molecule, since these are many thousands 
of times smaller in diameter than the length of a wave of light. 

Yet, in summary, the most striking fact is not their shape nor 

their size, but the fact that it has been possible to actually 

study these particles which, though invisible and apparently 

evading, have been the object of successful research through 

man’s untiring endeavors. __ _ 

— Harrison Rubin 


SUGGESTED 

Concrete 
Scar Tissue 
A Chlorophyll Cell 
A Terminal Moraine 
A Silo 

A Septic Tank 
Carbon 
A County 
Rayon 
Grass 


SUBJECTS 

A Tree 
An Atom 
A Poem 
A Novel 
A Comedy 
A Tragedy 
An Essay 
A Sonnet 
A Triolet 
A Popular Ballad 


2. HOW TO DO IT 


You spend your life in being told, or in telling others, 
how to do things or how things are done. At some time 
in your life someone has told you how to perform most 
of the acts which have become habitual with you. Most 
of your textbooks are simply extended explanations of 
how to do something or how things came about. And in 
your college courses you may be asked to explain, for the 
benefit of sceptical instructors, how plants are fertilized, 
how to make sulfuric acid, how a president is elected, or 
how Napoleon became emperor. Your problem is now 
extended, embracing not only what it is , but also how to do 
it (or how it is , or was> done). 

Choose a subject worth while. There is no point in 
explaining something with which your contemporaries 
are already familiar. But certainly your own knowledge 
and experience include some method, process, or pro¬ 
cedure which few people are acquainted with — even if it 
is something as simple as how to grind valves, how to 
take notes, or how to draw a book from the library. 
Obviously your choice will be limited also by space. How 
to Build an Automobile is too large a subject for a theme, 
but How to Build a Campfire is not, and you will be sur¬ 
prised to discover how few people, in this mechanical age, 
are acquainted with the latter process. 

Let’s try to describe it. First of all, what is a camp¬ 
fire? This we can define as a small fire so controlled and 
confined as to be useful for open-air cookery. This defini¬ 
tion, plus the reason for our consideration of the subject, 
may well be the introduction to our theme. 

43 


44 


EXPOSITION 


Now we must list the various steps in the process, 
in the order in which a camper would naturally take them. 
He would choose a good place for his fire, gather his wood 
together, stack it between large logs or stones, set fire 
to it, and tend it carefully until it became a good cooking 
fire. Each of these major steps needs elaboration. As 
we prepare the outline let us include the necessary de¬ 
velopments of each step as they will appear in the finished 
theme. 

I. Introduction: 

A. The subject was chosen because few people know how 

to build a good campfire. 

B. A campfire is a small fire confined between logs or 

stones and useful for outdoor cookery. 

II. The process: 

A. Choose a good location: 

1. Where the ground is free from brush, and 

2. Where there is no danger of setting fire to dead 

leaves or grass. 

B. Collect dry wood, twigs, branches, and logs. 

C. Stack the wood in a pyramid form between logs or 

stones, the smaller twigs at the bottom, larger pieces 

on top. 

D. Set fire to the pile, adding more wood as the flames 

grow. 

E. Tend the fire carefully, adding fuel judiciously until 

the space between the logs is filled with glowing 

coals. 


Now we need a conclusion. Since the whole purpose 
of the theme is to explain how to build a fire to cook on, 
what neater way could there be to end the theme than 
with a reference to cooking? Therefore we have: 

III. Conclusion: 

A. This is an ideal fire for cookery. 


HOW TO DO IT 


45 


HOW TO BUILD A CAMPFIRE 

Few people know how to build a good campfire. They build 
bonfires instead, and cook themselves rather than their food. 
A campfire worthy of the name is a small fire so confined be¬ 
tween logs or stones that it is really useful for open-air cookery. 

When it is time to think of preparing a meal, choose a good 
location for the fire — a spot clear of brush and free from dead 
grass and leaves. Collect dry wood of all sizes from twigs to 
logs, and stack it in the form of a pyramid between two logs or 
large stones, the twigs on the bottom and the larger branches 
on top. Set fire to the pile, on the side from which the wind, if 
any, is blowing, and as the flames grow add more fuel, tending 
the fire carefully until the space between the logs or stones is 
filled with glowing coals. 

This is the ideal campfire. A frying pan or grill may be 
placed over the outside supports, and a coffee pot directly on 
the coals; thus there is no need of burning either yourself or 
your supper. 

Student Themes 

THE MANUFACTURE OF NITROGLYCERIN 

Nitroglycerin is one of the most important of our commercial 
explosives. It has proved an invaluable aid in farming, lumber¬ 
ing, mining, and many other industries. In 1847, an Italian 
chemist, Solrero, discovered the substance which we call nitro¬ 
glycerin today. However, it was not until 1867, when Alfred 
Nobel discovered a practical process of making nitroglycerin on 
a large scale, that it became commercially important. 

The first step in Nobel’s process is the conversion of glycerin 
into nitroglycerin. A mixture of concentrated nitric and sul¬ 
furic acids is pumped into a large leaden “converter.” This 
converter is cooled at all times by a system of coils, through 
which a brine solution circulates. The glycerin is then sprayed 
slowly into the converter. The ensuing chemical change is 
called nitration, that is, three hydrogen atoms of the glycerin 


46 


EXPOSITION 


(C 3 H 5 (OH) 3 ) have been replaced by three nitrite radicals (NO2) 
of the nitric acid (HN 0 3 ), forming nitroglycerin (C 3 H 5 0 3 (N02)3). 

Next the contents of the converter are emptied into a large 
separation tank, which contains water. After standing for 
several days, the nitroglycerin collects on the surface of the 
water and is drained off. It is washed immediately, first with 
water and then with a solution of sodium carbonate. After it 
has been washed, the substance is filtered. The filtrate is the 
oily, odorless, and colorless liquid which we know as nitro¬ 
glycerin. 

Because of the extreme danger of premature explosion during 
transportation, pure nitroglycerin is rarely used. When absorbed 
by an earthlike porous material, called Kieselguhr, it becomes 
dynamite. Mixed with guncotton it is known as blasting 
gelatin. When combined with various other substances, it 
forms smokeless powders and an endless variety of useful explo¬ 
sives. Curiously enough, we find that nitroglycerin is also used 
extensively as a medicine. It is used principally in headache 
remedies and as a heart stimulant, and is frequently employed 
in cases of asthma, epilepsy, and Bright’s disease. Altogether, 
we see that it has a wide range of useful and commercial appli¬ 
cations. 

— Robert Ewing 

COOKING EGGS WITHOUT UTENSILS 

Primitive methods of cooking are in this age oftentimes more 
amusing than profitable. If you do not believe it, go out into 
the country some brisk morning and try cooking an egg on a 
rock. 

Before you start be sure that you select some part of the 
country on which you know rocks are available. It is most dis¬ 
gusting to struggle to the top of a hill before breakfast and upon 
arriving find nothing larger than a pebble on which to prepare 
the egg. 

The material necessary for this process is simple enough: one 
rock, eggs, bacon, bread and a knife. We will presume that the 
location will also provide the necessary material for the fire. 


HOW TO DO IT 


47 


After the fire is started, choose a comparatively flat rock that 
is large enough to hold an ordinary slice of bread. The depth 
of the rock should be at least five inches because a shallow rock 
will break into small pieces when it becomes hot. As soon as 
the fire dies down a little, slide the rock into the coals. 

While the rock is heating, lay the food in a safe place so that 
it will be convenient when you are ready to use it. Be very 
cautious about putting an egg on the ground. If you don’t 
step on it someone else will. The back pocket is also a poor 
place to keep the egg. There is always one person in every 
crowd, who in his subtle way finds pleasure in obeying impulses. 
When you bend over to take the rock from the fire, it will be 
his joy to give a vigorous tap in the location of the egg. Hold 
the egg in your hand and avoid such a tragic experience. 

It should not take more than twenty minutes for the rock 
to gain sufficient heat. As soon as you have pulled the rock 
from the coals, by means of a stick or any implement that is 
handy, lay several strips of bacon across it and allow them to 
cook. This, of course, furnishes the grease for the egg. Next 
place a piece of bread, the center having been removed, on the 
rock and break the egg into this opening. The frame of bread 
should keep the egg from running over the sides. If it does you 
are lucky. Perhaps several eggs will be ruined in your attempts 
to hit the hole in the bread, but do not despair. Your fore¬ 
fathers did it and so can you. When you have successfully 
placed the egg within the frame of bread, season it and cook it 
the way you like best. 

Difficulty may be experienced in removing the egg from the 
rock if you become impatient; however if you slip a knife under 
the egg slowly, it will loosen any part that may be sticking and 
you will have no trouble. No doubt by the time you have 
fried one egg on a rock you will not only appreciate living in 
this generation but you will admire your forefathers more than 
ever. 


— Enid Thirkettle 


48 


EXPOSITION 


TRIMMING A HEDGE 

A hedge may be pruned into a number of different forms, 
ranging from the elaborate statues sometimes pictured in the 
rotogravure section of the Sunday newspaper, to the simple 
rectangular form commonly seen on well-kept suburban lawns. 
Only the common box type of trimming will be described here; 
it is the simplest, and easier for the amateur than the curved 
or rounded trims. 

The necessary tools are few in number: a pair of hedge shears, 
a ball of twine and two stakes at least a foot longer than the 
desired height of the finished hedge. Tie the twine to the stakes, 
and drive or push them into the ground beside the hedge so 
that the string is taut, and stretched at the height to which it 
is desired to prune the hedge. Then, using this line as a guide, 
clip the top of the hedge with smooth, even strokes of the 
shears, leaving a horizontal surface level with the line. When 
the entire hedge has been reduced to the desired height in this 
way, move the line to the proper distance from the center of the 
hedge, and parallel to it, so that it may serve as a guide in 
trimming the side to a uniformly perpendicular surface. Trim 
this side in the same way as you did the top, and then move 
the line to the opposite side of the hedge, carefully stretching 
it parallel to the side which you have already trimmed, so as to 
secure a uniform width; otherwise the hedge will be slightly 
wedge-shaped. Having trimmed the second side as described 
above, you are through except for raking up and carrying away 
the clippings which litter the ground under the hedge. Don’t 
try immediately to pick out all the clippings caught among the 
branches of the hedge; they will be much easier to find a day 
or two later when they have changed color. 

The hedge should be trimmed two or three times a summer, 
depending on its rate of growth. The last pruning, however, 
should take place just after the plants have become dormant 
for the winter, or just after cold weather sets in. In this way 
the new growth is not left to endure the freezing of winter — 
the newer shoots are not yet covered with the corky bark which 


HOW TO DO IT 


49 


protects the older part of the plant. These would soon be 
killed by the cold, and be very unsightly if not removed in the 

late fall. __ , __ 

— Walter L. Wall 


SUGGESTED SUBJECTS 


How to Clean Wall Paper 
How to Care for a Furnace 
Trimming a Hedge 
Tree Planting 
How to Mix Concrete 
How to Cast a Play 
Making Camp 
Bookbinding 
House Painting 
How to Take Notes 
How Snow is Formed 
How Habits are Formed 
How to Solder 


How to Change a Tire 
Intelligent Voting 
How to Patch an Inner Tube 
Preparing the Vegetable Garden 
How to Make Grape Juice 
How to Speak in Public 

How to Bake a- 

How to Throw a Forward Pass 
How to Study for an Examination 
How a President is Elected 

How to Sell a- 

How the Second Reform Bill was 
Passed 


3 . WHAT IT IS AND HOW IT WORKS 

A mechanism is any device or organization consisting 
of two or more parts working together to produce a certain 
result. Our lives are bound up with almost innumerable 
mechanisms. Think for a moment of some of those to 
be seen in a modem household: a vacuum cleaner, an 
egg beater, an ice cream freezer, an electric bell, and many 
others. Or think of the human body: the hand, for 
instance, is one of the most nearly perfect of all machines. 
Or, finally, think of political or social groups that charac¬ 
teristically function much like machines: a city council, 
the House of Representatives, or a college. 

Although mechanisms may be familiar to you, and al¬ 
though you may be accustomed to speak of them more 
or less loosely in conversation, you will find that a deal 
of thought and care is required to describe and explain 
any one of them clearly, simply, and interestingly in writ¬ 
ing. The purpose of the remarks that follow is to assist you 
in such writing. 

You have already tried two “kinds” of exposition. In 
this exercise you will make use of both of these, with 
the necessary modifications, and also of another “kind.” 
Early in your paper you will define your subject, but in 
this definition you will doubtless find it desirable to make 
your subject more clear by defining its parts and also 
by setting forth the relations of those parts to each other 
or to one another. Further in the course of your compo¬ 
sition you may find it desirable to explain the simple 
process of operating the mechanism. But above all, in 
this piece of writing, you will make clear how the mechan- 
50 


WHAT IT IS AND HOW IT WORKS 51 

ism itself works; that is, you will explain how it produces 
its certain result. 

Let us illuminate and extend these general principles 
by considering a specific problem. Suppose we choose 
to describe that very common mechanism, a fountain 
pen. First we must define it in general terms. Then, 
since all fountain pens are included in this preliminary 
definition, we must select and name the one species with 
which we propose to deal. We might select any one; 
suppose, however, that we choose the familiar lever-filled 
type. All of this material, plus appropriate but less essen¬ 
tial remarks, will constitute the introduction. 

The next division of the paper, one that will doubt¬ 
less extend over several paragraphs, will describe a 
fountain pen both generally and in detail. The general de¬ 
scription should cover the shape, size, material, and color 
of the pen. The detailed description will perhaps deal 
first with the cap and then with the barrel. Points to 
be noted about the cap include: its extension of the length 
of the pen in use; its protection of the point when the 
pen is closed; the location and function of the clip or 
ring, if the pen has either; and the small vent holes, 
if there are any. The parts of the pen proper to be 
listed and described individually and functionally are: 
the point, the feeder, the barrel, the sac, the compressor, 
and the lever. 

One might then devote a paragraph to telling how to 
fill the pen and how it fills; another paragraph to de¬ 
scribing and explaining how it operates, that is, just how 
it supplies ink continuously and automatically to the 
point; and a final paragraph to observations on the ad¬ 
vantages of a fountain pen over an old-fashioned steel 
pen, or to some other observations equally suitable for 
a conclusion. 


52 


EXPOSITION 


Expressing all of this, with some additions, in topic 
outline form, we have: 

I. Introduction. 

A. Decline in popularity of penholders and steel pens. 

B. Increasing popularity of fountain pens. 

C. Fountain pen defined. 

D. Only lever-filled pen to be discussed. 

II. Lever-filled pen defined by description. 

A. General. 

1. Cylindrical in shape. 

2. About six inches long when closed, seven when 

open, and about the thickness of one’s little 
finger. 

3. Made of hard rubber or of some composition. 

4. Formerly black but now made in colors. 

B. The Cap. 

1. Cylindrical in shape. 

2. About two and a half inches long; closed at one 

end, and threaded inside the open end. 

3. Fitted over closed end of barrel, extends length of 

pen in use. 

4. Screwed over other end of barrel, protects the point. 

5. Clip on side of some caps grips edge of pocket when 

pen is carried, or ring in end of others may be 
threaded with light chain or ribbon. 

6. Vent holes in some caps provide for escape of 

warmed and expanded air. 

C. The Pen Proper. 

1. The Point. 

a. Usually of gold, tipped with a harder metal. 

b. Otherwise, similar to ordinary steel pen. 

2. The Feeder. 

a. Like slightly bent match stick. 

b. Grooved on top. 

c. Wedges point into place. 

3. The Sac. 


WHAT IT IS AND HOW IT WORKS 53 

a. Lies inside barrel. 

b. Cylinder of soft rubber closed at one end. 

c. Cemented at other end to feeder. 

4. The Barrel. 

a. Cylindrical in shape, and of slightly smaller 

diameter than cap. 

b. About five inches long. 

c. Closed at one end. 

d. Threaded near open end to receive cap. 

e. Near closed end is slotted and fitted with a 

lever mounted on a pin. 

5. The Compressor. 

a. Thin metal strip lying inside barrel on sac and 
beneath lever. 

III. How to fill this type of fountain pen, and how it fills. 

A. Raise proper end of lever through maximum arc. 

1. Compressor, forced down upon sac, expels most of 
air. 

B. Dip point into ink, hold it there, and release lever. 

1. Sac expands, creates vacuum, and sucks in ink. 

IV. How this type of pen operates. 

A. Feeder leads ink from sac to point through groove. 

B. Feeder also returns air to sac through groove. 

C. Interchange continues until ink is wholly replaced by 

air and pen needs to be filled again. 

V. Conclusion: 

A. Advantages of a fountain pen over an old-fashioned 
penholder and steel pen. 

1. Increased positiveness in operation. 

2. Greater ease in use. 

3. Time saved by elimination of dipping. 

4. No danger from open ink bottle. 

5. Convenience of pen without having ink always at 

hand. 

6. Freedom from the distraction of dipping. 

Now writing this up into final form we have: 


54 


EXPOSITION 


A FOUNTAIN PEN 

Bank counters and such are nowadays about the only places 
where one sees old-fashioned penholders equipped with steel 
pens — places where the danger of loss by theft is great. Almost 
everywhere else — on the business man’s desk or in his pocket, 
even on milady’s secretary or in her purse — one encounters 
fountain pens. A fountain pen may be defined as one which 
supplies ink continuously to the pen point and so eliminates the 
necessity of one’s continually dipping it into ink as he writes. 
There are many kinds of such pens, but this paper will be 
restricted to an explanation of the mechanism of the familiar 
lever-type fountain pen. 

This pen is commonly cylindrical in shape, about six inches 
long when closed and seven when open, and of a thickness 
about that of one’s little finger. Formerly this type, like all 
others, was made chiefly of hard rubber and almost invariably 
in black, but several compositions have recently been developed 
and the vogue now runs to colors. 

A fountain pen may be said to be composed of two parts: 
the cap and the pen proper. The cap is cylindrical in shape, 
about two and a half inches long, closed at one end, and threaded 
just inside the other. Fitted over the closed end of the barrel 
it gives greater length to the pen in use; screwed down over 
the other end of the barrel it protectingly covers the point. A 
clip on the side of some caps grips the edge of the pocket when 
the pen is carried, while a ring in the end of others may be 
threaded with a light chain or ribbon. Vent holes in some caps 
provide for the escape of warmed and expanded air. 

The pen proper comprises five chief parts: the point, the 
feeder, the sac, the barrel, and the compressor. The point, 
usually of gold tipped with a harder metal, is otherwise similar 
to an ordinary steel pen. The feeder, in size and shape much 
like a slightly bent match stick, is grooved the length of its top 
side and it wedges the point into place at the open end of the 
barrel. The sac, which lies inside the barrel, is a cylinder of 
soft rubber, closed at one end, and cemented at the other to the 


WHAT IT IS AND HOW IT WORKS 55 

feeder. The barrel, about five inches long, is cylindrical in 
shape, of slightly smaller diameter than the cap, and closed at 
one end. Near its open end it is threaded to receive the cap; 
near the closed end it is slotted and fitted with a lever mounted 
on a pin. The compressor is simply a thin strip of metal lying 
inside the barrel, on the sac and directly beneath the lever. 

Such a pen is rather easy to fill. First you raise the proper 
end of the lever through its maximum arc. This forces the 
compressor down upon the sac, nearly flattens the latter, and 
so expels most of the air from it. Then you dip the point into 
ink and hold it there while you release the lever. The rubber 
sac, now free from pressure, instantly resumes its normal cylin¬ 
drical shape, and as it does so it creates within itself a partial 
vacuum which immediately destroys itself by sucking the sac 
full of ink. 

The operation of the pen is likewise simple. As you write 
with it and thus use up the ink on the point, the feeder supplies 
it with more ink there. The feeder is a sort of two-way conduit: 
through its groove it brings down ink from the sac, but for 
every bit of ink it brings down it carries back through that 
same groove an equivalent amount of air. This process con¬ 
tinues until all of the ink is used up and the pen needs to be 
filled again. 

The advantages of a fountain pen over an old-fashioned pen¬ 
holder equipped with a steel pen are many. First and most 
essential is the increased positiveness in operation. Next comes 
the greater ease in use — in writing simply as a manual task. 
The time one saves by not having to dip the point may be 
negligible; so, too, perhaps, may be the elimination of the 
manifold dangers of an open ink bottle. But freedom from the 
necessity of having a bottle of ink always at hand is a note¬ 
worthy convenience, and freedom from the distraction of dip¬ 
ping, especially to one who writes with intense absorption, is a 
boon indeed. 


56 EXPOSITION 

Student Themes 


A FLASHLIGHT 

You campers and habitual “after-dark tire changers” are 
perhaps the people most familiar with the simple mechanism 
known as a flashlight. There are as many different types of 
flashlights as there are uses for them. Since the principle is 
the same in all, the general utility flash will best suit our purpose 
for exposition. 

A metal or rubber compound cylindrical case usually about 
two inches in diameter and varying in length from six inches 
to two feet, forms the body of the light. To the bottom end of 
this case is screwed a metal cap; on the other end is screwed a 
cap with metal sides but closed with a magnifying lens and 
containing a bulb surrounded by a polished metal reflector. 
Midway between the caps, on the side of the case, is a small 
switch. 

On the inside of the case are one or more dry cells, the number 
depending on the size of the flashlight. A small metal spring 
fastened within the metal cap at the lower end keeps the bat¬ 
teries firmly in place and serves also as a point of contact. Two 
metal strips extend along the inside casing wall; one from the 
edge of the lower metal cap to the switch on the side and the 
other from the switch to a small metal point of contact at 
the base of the bulb in the upper cap. So much for the interior 
and exterior appearance. 

The principle on which a flashlight works is simple, since the 
only requirement for light is that a circuit be completed. This 
is accomplished in the following manner. The small slide on 
the exterior casing is pushed over the switch button and holds 
it in place. The switch thus held joins the two metal strips on 
the interior. The upper one contacts with the point under the 
bulb, which point in turn contacts with the batteries. The 
current passing through the batteries reaches the metal spring 
at the end of the lower cap and continues to pass up the lower 
metal strip, meeting the upper strip at the switch and thus 
completing the circuit. 


WHAT IT IS AND HOW IT WORKS 57 


Because of its varied uses and convenient form the flashlight 
has come to be an almost indispensable article in our daily 
existence. 

— H. L. Motz 


THE HOUSE OP REPRESENTATIVES 

One of the greatest gifts which civilization has bestowed 
upon the modem state is the principle of representation. The 
representative government of today enables its citizens, however 
widely scattered they may be, to take an equal and concerted 
part in national affairs, and to live together in active nation¬ 
wide cooperation. The United States House of Representatives, 
as a living example of this system of government, comes to our 
minds first. 

The House represents, not the states, but the people of the 
United States. Representation is apportioned among the states 
according to their population, and is usually based upon the 
latest census. A representative, or member of the House, must 
have been a citizen of the United States for at least seven years, 
must be twenty-five years of age, and must live in the state 
from which he is elected. His term of service is two years. The 
representatives convene annually on the first Monday in Decem¬ 
ber. 

The presiding officer of the House, called the “speaker,” is 
elected by the representatives every two years. Because of its 
large membership, the House is divided into numerous standing 
committees. These committees vary greatly in importance, 
some of them having nominal duties only. Two of the most 
important are the committee on appropriations and the com¬ 
mittee on ways and means. The former has charge of the 
general appropriation bills which are introduced to meet the 
expenses of the government. The latter formulates legislation 
on taxation. The duty of the committees is to shape the 
various acts of legislation and submit them, together with their 
reports, to the representatives at large. 

A bill, or legislative act, may originate either in the Senate, 
the other branch of the legislature, or in the House, unless it is 


EXPOSITION 


58 


a bill relating to the raising of revenue. In that case, it must 
originate in the House of Representatives. The bill, to become 
a law, must receive the approval of a majority of both Houses 
of the legislature and then be signed by the president. If the 
president fails to sign or veto the bill within ten days, it auto¬ 
matically becomes a law. In case it is vetoed, the bill must 
repass both Houses by a two-thirds majority, to become a law. 
Should either of the two Houses amend a bill passed by the other, 
conference committees are appointed to effect a compromise 
between the two Houses. 

In the House of Representatives then, we have a new kind 
of mechanism. One which is mechanical in its set organization 
and constitutionalized procedure; yet one whose cogwheels 
are human beings and hence whose product is directly propor¬ 
tional to the variable capacities of those human beings. We 
have a social mechanism, theoretically so delicately adjusted 
that it works in harmony with the wishes, and adjusts itself to 
the needs of one hundred and twenty million people. In other 
words, it is, or in it lies the capacity of being, an “intelligent” 
mechanism. _ _ 


— Robert Ewing 


SUGGESTED SUBJECTS 


A Pencil Sharpener 
A Safety Razor 
A Pair of Scissors 
A Gas Stove 
An Electric Bell 
A Wagon Brake 
A Thermostat 
A Can Opener 
A Door Hinge 
A Water Wheel 
A Furnace 
A Percolator 


A Seismograph 
A Microscope 
A System of Pulleys 
The Human Eye 
A Balance 
A Hydraulic Jack 
The House of Representatives 
A College 

A Court of Common Pleas 

The Electoral College 

The Human Lung, or Heart, or 


Liver 


CHAPTER TWO 


CAUSES AND REASONS 

Once upon a time there was a man who never inquired 
into the causes of events and situations. He blindly 
accepted the status quo , lived the life of a stunted cabbage, 
and finally wilted and died. Moral: Don’t be a cabbage. 

In the three following problems you are asked to seek 
out and organize the causes for certain past and present 
facts. Your problem will first of all require accuracy —• 
determining and arranging in proper order all the causes, 
omitting none of importance, but discarding those of 
questionable value. In order to do this you must distin¬ 
guish between fact and opinion, which latter is otherwise 
known as tradition, belief, gossip, and guesswork. 

An opinion is a belief held without positive knowledge. 
A fact is a thing done or in existence which belongs to 
the experience of reliable people, and is logically plausible. 
For example, were there witches in Salem? We have the 
evidence of the most reliable people of the time that there 
were, but scientific logic disagrees. Or, again, in the 
North, even today, there are many reasons offered for 
that catastrophe called the Civil War. In the South there 
are still other reasons given. Both groups of reasons are 
chiefly opinions, and of no value. Every man has a right 
to his own opinion — if there are no facts to be found. 

You will not often be troubled by such intricate prob¬ 
lems, and if you are you will usually be compelled, for 
want of facts, to accept the conclusions of competent 
authority. But be sure always, if possible, that the causes 
you advance for a given fact are themselves facts, and 
not merely opinions. 


59 


4. A PERSONAL RESEARCH 


Thinking people have always engaged in personal re¬ 
searches, striving to find out why they were what they 
were, and what caused them to do what they did. You 
are your own best laboratory. It is true that there are 
few college courses in which you will be given credit for 
work in this laboratory, but for your success, in school 
and out, it is essential that you seek the causes for your 
actions, your state of health, or your condition of mind. 

Many purely personal matters you yourself cannot ex¬ 
plain. For instance, it lies within the province of the 
scientists to explain why you are six feet three inches tall 
or gifted with green eyes. But who can tell why you 
fell in love? Again, the roots of your dislike for hash 
may be beyond the reach of your memory. But usually 
you can find reasons for such facts as Why I Took the Job, 
Why I Went Camping, Why I Quarrelled with My Best 
Friend, or Why I Came to College. 

Let us choose the last subject. It matters little which 
we select, except with regard to breadth of interest. 
Why I Came to College will be of interest to your class¬ 
mates, and also to your instructors, who are always puz¬ 
zled by that question. 

Our method will be, first, to gather together all the 
knowledge we have of the forces that moved us to the 
decision. Imagine a fictitious character who found that 
in his case these forces were: 

1. His father’s desires and encouragement. 

2. The fact that two of his best friends were going to college. 

60 


A PERSONAL RESEARCH 


61 


3. His own rather hazy belief in the value of college training 

to one who wishes to be a success in the world. 

4. The fact that he couldn’t find a good job. 

These are strong influences. But there may be another 
aspect of the matter to be considered. Why did our 
fictitious character need to be influenced? Of course, 
because there were certain drawbacks to the proposal. 
Those were: 

1. The fact that he had no money. 

2. The fact that he was tired of study. 

3. His uncle’s belief that it was time for him to earn his own 

living. 

Now, while these are not answers to the question origi¬ 
nally proposed, yet they must be included in the essay 
because they are necessary for a full understanding of the 
situation. Occasionally, of course, we do something on 
impulse, or we are so attracted by the proposition that 
we do not consider its other side. Frequently there is 
no other side; in explaining, for example, why one failed 
an examination, there can be only a discussion of related 
causes. But when there has been a decision made, it is 
always wise to bring both sides into the discussion. 

In our outline we shall place first the reasons against 
our hero’s going to college, because we wish to emphasize 
his reasons for going, and always the latter part of an 
essay should contain the more emphatic material. For 
a similar reason we shall do well to arrange the reasons 
pro and con in the order of their importance, starting with 
the least important and concluding with the most impor¬ 
tant. Our tentative outline then takes on this appearance: 

II. Reasons opposed. 

1. His uncle’s belief that it was time for him to earn his 
own living. 


62 


EXPOSITION 


2. His weariness with study and school. 

3. His lack of money. 

III. Reasons for. 

1. The fact that he couldn’t find a good job. 

2. His own belief in the value of college training. 

3. The fact that two of his best friends were going to 

college. 

4. His father’s desires and encouragement. 

As we study the outline we observe something unex¬ 
plained. The “reasons opposed” are in effect obstacles 
to the “reasons for.” Since our hero did come to college, 
the “reasons opposed” must have been overcome. So 
we draw up a third section, a conclusion, as follows: 

V. Conclusion. 

1. His uncle’s arguments seemed less important. 

2. Three months’ vacation overcame his dislike for study. 

3. His father provided the money. 

There is now only the introduction to consider. Here 
the best course is to state simply the nature of the question 
and perhaps how it arose. 

WHY I CAME TO COLLEGE 

I have been asked a number of times to explain why I came 
to college. I can answer this question only by saying that, as 
in all such cases, there were forces persuading me to stay home 
and work, and that there were other forces persuading me to 
come here. 

My uncle was opposed to my going. He felt that I had had 
enough education and that it was high time I earned my own 
living. I was inclined to agree with him, for I was tired of 
school — tired of books and papers and recitations. Moreover, 
my family was not wealthy and I needed more money than I 
could scrape up for fees and board and room. 

But, although I hunted all summer, I couldn’t find a job I 


A PERSONAL RESEARCH 


63 

liked. Two of my best friends, I learned, were coming here, 
and in talk with them I became envious. They encouraged my 
rather vague belief in the value of college training for a man 
who wanted to be a success in life. At length, too, I found that 
my father wanted me to go. 

Gradually my uncle’s arguments came to seem less important, 
and with the passing of vacation my distaste for study grew 
less. At last my father told me that he had enough money to 
help me out, and here I am. 

Student Themes 

WHY I WORK FOR A LIVING 

Not because I have been endowed with a surplus supply of 
energy, but, rather, because I am forced by economic pressure, 
I find myself punching a time clock every day. 

My mother always believed that I was inherently lazy. Now 
I am beginning to believe it. But then, why should I increase 
the turmoil of my mind which is already agitated by the fiendish 
exponents of higher learning? Why should I ruin my perfectly 
good disposition? Why should I grow old before my time? 
There is little wonder, then, that I turn a cold shoulder to a 
working world that means little more to me than sore feet, 
weary bones, and heavy eyelids. Why should I, yearning for 
the finer things in life, become a mental degenerate from lack 
of time for meditation and reflection? At night, I toss from 
side to side because my conscience (yes, I have a conscience) is 
persistently reminding me that I am contributing to the great 
starving masses of unemployed. The logical conclusion follows: 
I should not work! 

In a more sane moment, however, one recalls that there is a 
biological law more powerful than one’s fancy. Strange as it 
may seem, one must eat, sleep, and have shelter. And sad as 
it may seem, I was not born with a gold spoon or a hamburger 
in my mouth. Consequently, I must be my own meal ticket, 
supply my own necessities, and shelter myself from a cold, 
cruel world. Being afflicted with a desire to continue my educa- 


EXPOSITION 


64 

tion, I find my philosophical mind turning to mercenary labor. 
For after all, this institution requires the payment of fees, the 
purchase of books, and the buying of athletic uniforms. 

But beyond all this, there are certain advantages to this 
slavery. My roommate profits by my absence, for it gives her 
time to recuperate from the mental, moral, and physical ex¬ 
haustion which my presence causes. I profit from contacts 
made while working which inspire me with ideals for bigger and 
better things. And incidentally, thus far I have avoided the 
Juvenile Court, the psychopathic ward, and other institutions 
of ill repute, all because my time has been utilized to the nth 

degree. —M. Barker 


WHY I RODE A MULE 

Why I rode a mule over sixteen miles of one of the hottest, 
roughest, steepest, and most beautiful trails I have ever known 
is not so hard to explain, now that I sit back in my cushioned 
chair and meditate upon it. Though I knew nothing of the dis¬ 
comforts of such a situation, or of the sometimes disastrous 
effects of a very high temperature, I could not refuse an adven¬ 
ture such as an all-day trip into the depths of the magnificent 
Grand Canyon of the Colorado. 

Of course I had heard many jokes about the soreness and 
stiffness resulting from amateur horseback riding. I was also 
warned of the danger of severe sunburn, and of the intense heat 
encountered on reaching the canyon floor. Still another impor¬ 
tant item to be considered was that of the money required to 
view nature’s wonders a la muleback. 

But it is easy to laugh at the idea of suggested discomforts 
when one’s memory is not sharpened by similar experiences. 
And did I not have the money in my purse, though it might 
have been intended for another use? My friend’s desire to 
undertake the trip also helped me to make my decision, for I 
was not to be outdone by anyone who might profess to have 
more backbone than I. I likewise was possessed of the usual 
desire to write home, exploiting my adventures in long, boring 


A PERSONAL RESEARCH 


65 


letters. However, I believe that the most sincere urge was that 
of curiosity to see, at close range, the beauty and grandeur of 
which I had but a bird’s-eye view from the rim of the canyon. 

Perhaps the thought entered my mind, from time to time, 
that I should have remained behind with my feet safely on the 
ground. These thoughts occurred most frequently after doses 
of aromatic spirits of ammonia. I started the descent as fresh 
as the morning air; I finished the ascent with a desire to lie 
down forever. I became sunburned. I acquired fifteen new 
freckles. I limped for two weeks afterward. But now I com¬ 
placently sit in comfort; I cherish the memory of a grand sight 
that I never will forget, to say nothing of the snapshots I have 


to prove it. 


— Lois W. Huff 


SUGGESTED SUBJECTS 


Why I Came to College 
Why I Fell Sick 
Why I Took the Job 
Why I Failed the Course 
Why I Am a Poor Student 

And So I Bought the- 

Why I Joined a Fraternity 


Why I Let My Hair Grow 

Why I Play Golf 

I Learned to Drive 

Why I Like Sports 

Why I Do Not Drink Coffee 

The Causes of My Success 

Why I Read Newspapers 


Why I Took French 


5. AN IMPERSONAL RESEARCH 
THE ORGANIZATION OF RECORDED CAUSES 

In a history course you may be asked to give the reasons 
for some important event. In a course in science, sociol¬ 
ogy, or political science, you may find yourself dealing 
with causes of acts or conditions belonging to either the 
distant or the immediate past. You find these causes 
recorded (not always, perhaps, in the best and most 
logical order) in histories, encyclopaedias, and textbooks, 
for matters of the more distant past, and in yearbooks, 
magazines, and newspapers, for matters of the immediate 
past. Your task is to find in some authoritative publica¬ 
tions (two, or more, if possible) the recorded causes of 
the event you wish to deal with, and to present them 
clearly and simply. 

The term impersonal applied to such research implies 
that you approach your study in an absolutely unbiased 
state of mind. Your personal attitudes and views are 
out of place here. You may, for example, believe most 
heartily in the abolition of child labor, but this belief 
should not appear in a consideration of the question why 
the United States has no child labor law. In other words 
you should be scientific and nonpartisan. 

Since you will deal, in this problem, with causes recorded 
by authorities, it is imperative that you state, either in 
the body of your composition or in a footnote, the source 
of your material. There is a definite form for such a note, 
conventionally accepted by all writers. The name of 
the author should be first, followed by the title of the 
publication, the date of publication (usually within paren- 
66 


AN IMPERSONAL RESEARCH 


67 

theses), the volume, and page or pages, thus: H. G. Wells, 
The Outline of History (1922), vol. 2, pp. 376-406. In 
addition, if you find it desirable to quote from your 
authority, the exact location of the quotation should be 
indicated in a footnote. Such a notation may be by an 
asterisk * or figure (1) given, first, after the quotation and, 
second, before the reference at the bottom of the page. 
For the many other methods of documenting a research 
paper, consult a handbook or reference manual. 

Of course in a short essay you cannot hope to go into 
the utmost detail about a past event. For example, 
huge volumes have been written on the causes of the 
World War. A subject for your modest purposes should 
be one lending itself to brief treatment, and your essay 
should note only the most important considerations. Any 
item from the past of political or military affairs, the 
history of art, science, sociology, or economics, may be 
a possible subject for exposition. The Causes of the 
American Revolution, The Reasons for the First English 
Reform Bill, Why the Gothic Style in Architecture Arose 
in the Middle Ages, or Why Pasteur Sought a Cure for 
Hydrophobia, are all subjects capable of exposition in 
condensed form. In each case the question to be answered 
is, Why did it happen? 

Let us look into the causes of the American Revolution. 
From the standard histories we learn that the following 
were its chief causes: 

The character of the colonists, generally republicans and non¬ 
conformists. 

Their growing belief, under the influence of contemporary 
philosophical thought, in the contract theory of government. 

English acts destructive of colonial political and economic 
freedom. 

a. Importation Act of 1733. 


68 


EXPOSITION 


b. No representation in Parliament. 

Acts of tyranny and oppression, 
a. Stamp Act of 1765. 

Now we must arrange these causes according to some 
plan. We might divide them according to whether they 
could be classed as economic, political, or philosophic. 
Perhaps the simplest method is to put together in one 
section all the long-standing causes, and, in a second 
section, the immediate causes. The long-standing causes 
would include: the character of the colonists, their belief 
in the contract theory, their lack of representation in 
Parliament, and the 1733 import tax act which cost them 
money. The immediate causes would be acts of tyranny 
and oppression, chiefly the Stamp Act of 1765, which 
were like winds blowing smouldering coals to flames. 

In the outline let us use a statement of the question 
for our introduction, and, for our conclusion, a brief sum¬ 
mary of the event explained. The outline takes this form: 

I. Introduction: The question is, What were the causes of the 
American Revolution? 

II. The causes were: 

A. Long-standing causes. 

1. The character of the colonists, who were generally 

republicans and nonconformists. 

2. Their growing belief, under the influence of contem¬ 

porary philosophic thought, in the contract theory 
of government. 

3. Their lack of representation in Parliament. 

4. The Importation Act of 1733. 

B. Immediate causes. 

1. Acts of tyranny and oppression, of which the Stamp 
Act of 1765 was the most unbearable. 

III. Conclusion: The results were riots, massacres, and revolu¬ 

tion. 


AN IMPERSONAL RESEARCH 


69 


THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

In 1776 began the revolt of the American colonies against 
the sovereignty of Great Britain. What were the causes of 
that revolution? 

There were certain long-standing causes, among which the 
most important was the character of the colonists themselves, 
men of strong republican and nonconformist principles. In 
addition, under the influence of contemporary philosophic 
thought, they had come to believe in the contract theory of 
government; and thus, having no representation in Parliament, 
they looked upon the Importation Act of 1733 as a very real 
cause for complaint. 

The more immediate causes of the revolution were acts of 
tyranny and oppression which destroyed the political freedom 
and handicapped the trade of the colonies. The Stamp Act of 
1765, while not of itself a heavy burden, was a final straw. 

As the result of all these forces came riots, the massing of 
troops by Great Britain to enforce its laws, and massacres. 
The Continental Congress assembled, passed the Declaration of 
Independence, and the war was on. 1 

A Student Theme 

WILLIAM PITT AND THE STAMP ACT 

When studying American History, many of us are impressed 
by a stately member of the English Parliament who opposed 
the passage of the Stamp Act and fought to repeal it. Later in 
our studies, however, we learn that very few men take a stand 
such as the one taken by the Elder Pitt without a very good 
reason. Why did Pitt oppose the Stamp Act? 

England had long had a very reasonable and just colonial 
policy. Since the signing of the Magna Carta , the rights of 
Englishmen had been recognized and respected. William Pitt 

1 Based on A. C. McLaughlin, A History of the American Nation 
(1916), pp. 133-154* 


7 o 


EXPOSITION 


was strongly in favor of upholding these rights in the colonies 
and pointed out that when two countries which were not incor¬ 
porated were under the same ruler, the “greater should rule 
the lesser to the common interests of both.” Believing in this 
ideal, Pitt advocated the representation of the American colo¬ 
nies in Westminster and was decidedly opposed to taxation 
without representation. 

The necessity of repealing the Stamp Act seemed vital to 
Pitt because France was getting a strong hold upon the Amer¬ 
ican colonies. France had built a line of forts in the west, upon 
which Pitt looked with suspicion. Rumors were constantly 
being spread concerning the steady increase of antagonism 
toward England in the colonies. Riots were being staged more 
and more frequently, and the situation was certain to reach a 
crisis soon. Pitt declared that the Stamp Act was “founded 
upon an erroneous principle,” 1 and he knew that the day was 
not far distant when America would vie with England in arms, 
and also in arts. Realizing the immediate danger of losing the 
colonies, he made a last attempt to impress the imminence of 
a crisis upon his colleagues in the House of Commons by closing 
his famous speech with the words, “Bind their trade, confine 
their manufactures, exercise every power whatsoever, except 
that of taking their money out of their pockets without their 
consent.” 2 

By expressing his views in this forceful manner, Pitt was 

able to effect the repeal of the Stamp Act, but he was unable 

to prevent the loss of thirteen of the most valuable colonies in 

North America. _ _ w _ 

— M. M. Lacey 


SUGGESTED SUBJECTS 

Why the Pilgrims Came to America 
Why the United States Purchased Louisiana 
Why Prohibition Was Adopted 

1 A. B. Hart, American History Told by Contemporaries (1897— 
1926), vol. 2, p. 406. 

2 Ibid., p. 407. 


AN IMPERSONAL RESEARCH 


71 


Why the Interstate Commerce Commission Was Set Up 

Why Dore Did Bible Pictures 

Why Caesar Crossed the Rubicon 

Why McKinley Declared War against Spain 

Why the United States Wanted the Philippines 

Why Athens Outlived Sparta 

Why the Pyramids Were Built 


6. AN IMPERSONAL RESEARCH 

THE ORGANIZATION OF UNRECORDED CAUSES 

It is interesting and worth while to seek out recorded 
causes for some past condition or event, and to organize 
them intelligently. But it is even more worth while to 
find out for yourself the unrecorded causes for an event. 
On a smaller scale you can do the work of the editor, the 
scientist, or the historian. The reporter who interviews 
a noted statesman, questioning him about the forces which 
have produced a given situation; the health officer who 
seeks the causes for an epidemic in his city; the historian 
who seeks the causes for an event of the past, all are doing 
what you can do in your own community and with the 
tools nearest to your hand. 

You may be able, for example, by interviewing the 
manager of a local store, to learn why sales are held 
at the end of each month. Your own experience as a 
driver may enable you to find the reasons why traffic 
lights are useful. By digging through statistical abstracts 
or yearbooks you may be able to find why such and 
such a stock yields high or low returns. Or by careful 
inquiry among those who know the “inside story” of 
a local event or condition, you may be able to find out 
why a certain candidate was not elected, why an amateur 
play was a financial success, why a specified course is 
required in your college, or why certain activities are of 
practical value. You deal, of course, with the past and 
present, not with the future; and the facts the causes of 
which you seek must be beyond question true; it is not 
your function to enter into controversy. 

72 


AN IMPERSONAL RESEARCH 


73 


Avoid generalizations. Beware of statements made by 
an individual or an organization with an axe to grind. 
Avoid opinions, unless they come from the best qualified 
experts who are distinctly nonpartisan. A power com¬ 
pany employee may know why the power rate in your 
community is high, but he is likely to be partisan. The 
coach of a play may have many reasons why the play 
failed, but he may be seeking to save his own face. When¬ 
ever possible, find the facts for yourself. If you must 
depend upon informants, be sure of their honesty and 
fairness. 

For example, a football coach was conducting a “post¬ 
mortem ” over the past football season. He was an honest, 
able man, and he knew that the failure of the team 
was not his fault. As an expert on the subject, and as 
one intimately associated with the team, he was in an 
excellent position to know the causes of its failure. He 
found three main reasons why the team failed. He pre¬ 
sented them in the reverse order of their importance, 
putting the most important last, and so building his speech 
to a climax. His reasons were: 

1. The team was too light. 

2. It lacked a dependable punter. 

3. Because of personal enmities it did not play as a unit. 

But he did not stop with merely the statement of the 
reasons; he elaborated upon each in order to make it 
perfectly clear. To the first reason he added the informa¬ 
tion that every team played during the season had out¬ 
weighed the home team from five to twenty pounds a 
man. Supplementing the second reason he explained that 
Jones, his best punter, had broken a leg early in the 
season, that McCarthy, his next best, had twisted a liga¬ 
ment shortly thereafter, and other punters were erratic. 


74 


EXPOSITION 


Amplifying the third reason he listed a number of personal 
enmities which had caused trouble, and several of his 
hearers grew red-faced as they listened. In other words, 
he gave subsidiary facts in explanation of the main fact 
(the failure of the team), and supported his explaining 
facts with data which he and many others knew to be 
true. His outline for the talk was probably arranged thus: 

Main fact: The team failed. 

Explanation i: The team was too light. 

Support a: It was outweighed five to twenty pounds a man. 

Explanation 2: The team lacked a dependable punter. 

Support a: Jones broke his leg early in the season. 

Support b: Shortly thereafter McCarthy twisted a liga¬ 
ment. 

Support c: Other punters were erratic. 

Explanation 3: Because of personal enmities the team did not 
play as a unit. 

Support a: A right guard refused to speak to the man 
who played next to him. 

Support b: A first team lineman was on bad terms with a 
half back. 

Support c: Two men playing in similar positions belonged 
to rival fraternities. 

Let us write out the coach’s explanation. Since he is 
a good coach he will speak more in sorrow than in anger, 
and he will have hopes for the future. His personal atti¬ 
tudes should appear in the introduction and conclusion. 
Moreover, he must, in the introduction, tell us what his 
subject is, namely, the failure of the team, and he should 
give details about that subject. 

WHY THE TEAM FAILED 

The past season was admittedly a failure. With the exception 
of one victory, that over Blank University early in the season, 


AN IMPERSONAL RESEARCH 


75 


our record is dark. Our schedule was no harder than usual, 
and our material was excellent. Why, then, did the team fail? 

One of the most obvious reasons for our unsuccessful season 
was the light weight of the team. In every game we were out¬ 
weighed by our opponents from five to twenty pounds a man. 
The second reason points to an even greater weakness: we had 
no dependable punter. Jones, on whom we had depended for 
our kicking, broke his leg early in the season; shortly afterward, 
McCarthy, our only other hope, twisted a ligament. All of 
our other punters were erratic. But even these handicaps 
might have been overcome if the team had played as a unit, 
but it did not. I mention no names, but when a right guard 
refuses to speak to the man who plays next to him, when a 
first team lineman is on bad terms with a half back, and when 
two men playing similar positions carry to the field the rivalry 
of their different fraternities, one cannot expect a unified team. 

But the season is over and we build now for next year. We 
shall have a heavier line; Jones and McCarthy will be recovered 
and with us again, and there will be no enmities among the 
players — or there will be no players! 

Student Themes 

WHY THE CONFECTIONERY FAILED 

A rental sign is hanging once more in the old storeroom 
window, where, so short a time ago, were displayed the inviting 
notices of the opening night of a new confectionery. The new 
shop, to all outward appearances, gave great promise of success, 
but now, within eight weeks of its opening, it has been aban¬ 
doned. 

One of the most obvious factors contributing to the failure 
of the project was the active competition of a well-established 
confectionery on the opposite comer. This shop had merited 
the patronage of the neighborhood for over six years. The 
operator was a good-natured resident of the community, on 
friendly terms with all. On the other hand, the proprietor of 
the new shop was a meek individual, who, being possessed of a 


76 


EXPOSITION 


singularly colorless personality, found it difficult to make any 
definite impression on the minds of those with whom he came 
in contact. Also, he was not infrequently caught asleep, and 
this habit may prove either annoying or convenient to the 
customer, depending on his errand. 

Another drawback to the popularity of the shop was soon 
discovered by its few customers. The inferior quality of the 
goods sold there, and also, the incomplete fine of goods carried, 
became too obvious to be overlooked. Even some common 
articles, much in demand, could not be located in this peculiar 
place of business. 

But the most curious reason, and possibly the main reason 
for the failure of the confectionery, was that to enter the shop, 
one had to ascend some six or eight steps from the street level. 
Most humans are lazy creatures, and climbing steps is an exer¬ 
tion. Hence, after one or two visits, the prospective customer 
had a few ideas firmly fixed in his mind, and usually did not 
return. 

To suggest the proper way to operate a confectionery is not 
my business, but I only hope that the next enterprising indi¬ 
vidual who attempts to make a success in this unfortunate 
situation, will be neither a shrinking violet nor a back-slapper; 
and for the sake of numerous lazy mortals, will install an esca¬ 
lator on those steps. _ „ TT 

— Lois W. Huff 

WHY THE PLAY WAS A SUCCESS 

It is a precedent at the school from which I was graduated 
that the senior class pay the entire expenses of graduation. 
Last May the senior class had a serious problem to face because 
they planned to raise the money by presenting a play, and the 
past few plays had not been decided successes. Hoping for the 
best, the committee selected a play, the coach chose a cast, and 
they started preparation and finally presented the play. Their 
fears were unfounded because sufficient money was realized to 
pay for the entire expenses as well as to buy a fine globe for the 
school. 


AN IMPERSONAL RESEARCH 


77 


Now why did this play “fill with gold the general coffers,” 
and gain the reputation of being one of the finest plays ever 
given by the school? First of all, the play was well known since 
it had been made into a movie, and it contained numerous 
minor characters. Perhaps you do not understand why the 
number of characters had anything to do with the play’s success, 
but all the doting relatives of these characters bought tickets 
to see the entrance of their beloved into the theatrical world. 
The coach had produced this play at another time; so had 
profited by her former experience. As their last gesture the 
class decided to cooperate and this they did by making signs, 
painting scenery, selling tickets, and making costumes. 

Without any doubt the play “went over with a bang” and 
any play can be a success if handled in the right way. 

— A. J. Landers 
SUGGESTED SUBJECTS 

Why the Game Was Lost 

Why Fraternities Are Socially Important 

Why-Is a Good College 

Why the Play Was a Success 

Why the-Failed Financially 

Why a Course in-Is Required 

Why Are College Fees So High? 

Why Athletes Are Not Paid for Playing Football 

Why a Prom is Expensive 

Why Class Offices Are Worth Striving For 

Why Are Electric Rates High in-? 

Why This City Needs- 









































CHAPTER THREE 


JUDGMENTS 

As one goes through life he is expected more and more 
to make his own decisions. When he is a child his judg¬ 
ments are not his own but are reflections of those of his 
parents, his teachers, and others in authority. But as 
he achieves maturity in his college days and after, he is 
expected to formulate reasonably accurate judgments 
about both concrete and abstract matters. That is, he 
is expected to compare and contrast the various elements 
involved in the consideration of any problem, and to 
arrive, as a result of his study, at a conclusion which 
becomes for him a course of thought or action. 

Who is the greatest modem inventor? What is the 
most effective spray for aphis? What is the highest 
meaning of success? Answering these questions involves 
the process of judgment, explained in the following pages. 
It is a process which will be found of value in college 
courses, in literary criticism and philosophical discussion, 
and in the crises which come to everyone. 

Do not leap to conclusions. Proceed methodically from 
step to step, posing the question, looking on all sides of 
it, comparing or contrasting the various elements con¬ 
cerned, and finally arriving at a judgment. Be fair. Let 
your reason guide you, not your prejudices. And, finally, 
do not guess. Facts will speak for themselves in the judg¬ 
ment of a concrete subject; opinions must be resorted to 
on more abstract matters. But an opinion is arrived at 
after long and careful thought; a guess is only a tentative 
opinion, swiftly arrived at and of little value. 

79 


7 . A JUDGMENT OF THINGS 

A judgment is a what is it followed by a why is it so. 
That is, it is a definition of the terms in which the problem 
is stated, followed by a careful organization of the various 
facts leading up to the resulting judgment. In such a 
problem as Which Is the Most Expensive Automobile, 
the term in greatest need of definition is “expensive”: 
does it refer to operating expense or initial cost? Or in a 
consideration of The Best Course in Blank College, does 
“best course” refer to the most effective course, to the 
most interesting, or to the easiest? Definition of terms, 
then, should constitute the first section — possibly the in¬ 
troduction — of your theme. 

The second and main section of the article should con¬ 
tain all the facts, carefully ordered, which, when brought 
into opposition to each other, lead to the conclusion, 
which is the statement of your judgment. These facts 
may be found recorded in reference books, or they may 
appear after a sort of laboratory research on your own 
part. Such a problem as Which City in the United States 
Pays the Highest Rate for Its Domestic Gas could be 
quickly solved by a glance at the tables in The Statistical 
Abstract of the United States. But such a problem is too 
easy; a little perseverance and ingenuity will enable you 
to arrive at a worth-while judgment independent of pub¬ 
lished materials. 

For example, as you glance at your desk you may see 
three books, one bound in leather, one in cloth, and one 
in paper. All three are the same age and each has had the 
same use, yet they differ in the wear they show. The 
80 


A JUDGMENT OF THINGS 


81 


paper-bound book is dirty and torn, the cloth-bound book 
is battered and dog-eared, but the leather-bound book 
is still sound. You are now on the track of a judgment, 
but one series of comparisons is hardly enough. You 
go, therefore, to the library, and glance over the shelves. 
More and more, as you compare the durability of leather 
bindings with that of cloth and paper, you are led to the 
conclusion that, all other things being equal — age, use, 
workmanship, etc.,—leather bindings are more durable 
than cloth or paper. You have now arrived at a sound 
judgment. 

One must limit his subject carefully. It would be a 
large job, for example, to decide which is the best radio 
on the market, or which is the best automobile, washing 
machine, breakfast food, or toothpaste. But it may be 
possible to discover which radio has the most volume, 
which automobile is cheapest to run, which washing ma¬ 
chine has the simplest mechanism, which breakfast food 
furnishes most roughage, or which toothpaste has the 
greatest value as an anti-acid. 

Let us take as our question, The Safest Investment for 
a Man with a Small Sum of Money. We may explain the 
subject on the basis of either personal knowledge or infor¬ 
mation collected from books or from our banker. We learn 
that there are four important classes of investments: real 
estate, mortgages, stocks, and bonds. We proceed to com¬ 
pare these as to their safety, with an eye to eliminating the 
unsafe. Since our investor has only a small sum, say five 
hundred dollars, mortgages and real estate, which require 
comparatively large sums, are out of the question. We are 
now left with only stocks and bonds. There are many kinds 
of stocks—preferred, common, and others,—but all are 
alike in one respect: if the company issuing them fails, the 
investor may lose all or some of his money. There are also 


82 


EXPOSITION 


many kinds of bonds; but there are two kinds which are 
chiefly important: ordinary bonds, which are claims upon 
private organizations, and public bonds, claims upon gov¬ 
ernments. 

Since ordinary bonds are merely prior claims on private 
organizations, they are only slightly safer than stocks 
issued by the same organizations. But public bonds are 
claims upon all the people living within the sovereignty 
of the issuing government. Certainly these latter will be 
safer than private bonds, just as private bonds are safer 
than stocks. Also the greater the number of people 
guaranteeing a bond, the safer it must be. Obviously, 
therefore, United States government bonds are the safest 
investment for the man of small means. Thus by a proc¬ 
ess of elimination we have arrived at a judgment which 
is an answer to our original question. 

Surprisingly enough, in following the logic of the ex¬ 
planation, we have already made an outline and a theme. 
Formally we have gone through these steps in the process: 

I. The Question. 

II. Definitions and explanations. 

III. Contrasts and comparisons. 

A. Elimination of facts which do not apply to the question. 

B. Comparison of pertinent facts. 

IV. The statement of the judgment. 

And now, if we develop our material into a theme we 
have the following: 

THE SAFEST INVESTMENT 

The problem of the small investor is to place his money 
safely. In what investment can he find the greatest safety? 

There are four important classes of investments: real estate, 
mortgages, stocks, and bonds. Since outright buying of real 


A JUDGMENT OP THINGS 


83 


estate or investment in mortgages requires a larger sum of 
money than the small investor has, they are not to be considered. 
We are left then with only stocks and bonds. 

There are many kinds of stocks besides the best known, 
common and preferred, but they are all alike in one respect: 
if the organization issuing them fails, the investor is likely to 
lose all or part of his money. Is there no safer investment? 

There are two kinds of bonds, private and public. Since 
private bonds, issued by private companies, constitute merely 
prior claims to payment in case of bankruptcy, they are only 
slightly safer than stocks. But public bonds are issued by 
governments — national, state, county, municipal, etc. They 
are guaranteed by all the people living under the sovereignty 
of the government issuing the bonds. Certainly these will be 
safer than private bonds. Also the greater the number of 
people guaranteeing a bond the safer it must be. Obviously, 
then, bonds issued by the United States government must be 
the safest of all bonds, and are therefore the safest investment 
for the man of small means. 

Student Themes 

THE BEST FUEL 

When winter draws nigh, it brings with it the problem of 
heating. The question is, “Which fuel is cleanest, most efficient, 
and least expensive for use in the home?” 

There are various systems of heating and various types of 
fuel. One may heat with coal, gas, oil, steam, or electricity. 
Since the cost of electricity is as yet too high to allow its use 
for heating, since the equipment for burning oil in furnaces is 
too expensive, and since the cost of installation and upkeep of 
a steam heating plant is too much, only gas and coal heating 
are left to be considered. 

Coal is cheap and gives sufficient heat but is very dirty. 
There is the monotonous task of carrying out ashes and of 
having them hauled away. Pipes and flues must be cleaned 
out often. Special and almost constant attention must be 


84 


EXPOSITION 


given a coal furnace in order to keep it from burning out. If 
the furnace is defective it will smoke and will cover everything 
and everybody with a thin film of smoke and dirt. 

Gas is a clean fuel giving sufficient heat. Gas furnaces re¬ 
quire no attention save that of lighting them at the beginning 
of winter and regulating them when necessary. Gas is more 
expensive than coal, but when all the factors are considered 
there can be only one conclusion — gas is the most satisfactory 

* Ue1, —M. Barker 

WHICH IS THE BETTER ATHLETIC SYSTEM? 

There is a distinct difference between the athletic systems of 
American and English universities. From the point of view of 
the athlete which is the better? 

The American system is one of high organization maintained 
on a huge financial basis; the English system, on the other hand, 
is one of low organization with strictly a non-business basis. 
American sports, as they are organized, depend on the presence 
of large numbers of spectators, intensive training, and excessive 
publicity created by the press, the radio, and the moving picture. 
Sports in the United States are supposed to be character-build¬ 
ing, but the truth is that the stress of striving for victory to 
satisfy the unscrupulous public wears down the self-control and 
destroys the nervous tissue of the average competitor. 

The system in England being run on a low financial basis is 
free from the faults of the American method. There are no 
paid coaches, and the expenses are taken care of by the members 
of the teams. Training is earnest but not scientific. The pub¬ 
licity is very limited and the number of spectators small. All 
this simplification of sport gives a better opportunity for the 
emergence of its true moral and social values. 

It is safe to say, then, that an English athlete competing in 
modern sports enjoys the character-building training of compe¬ 
tition to a greater extent than the American athlete who labors 
under the difficulties of a too highly organized system. He 
knows the thrill of real sport, of not playing for championships, 


A JUDGMENT OP THINGS 85 

for title, for money, for publicity, or for applause, but simply 

for the love of the game. _ . 

— C. A. Keyser 

THE BEST WAY TO IMPROVE OUR SOCIETY 

Our most fundamental problem today is to deliberately change 
our culture so as to eliminate the undesirable aspects and to 
remedy its maladjustments. Our concern is to decide which is 
the best method to use in bringing about these desired changes. 

Any deliberate effort to change our present culture will be 
met by two resisting forces: the “vested interests” or those 
who benefit by the existing order, and the inertia of the masses. 
There are two outstanding ways to overcome these obstacles — 
violence and non-violent coercion. Violence may take the form 
of terrorism or revolution. Non-violent coercion includes the 
strike, the boycott, passive resistance, and the use of political, 
educational, and social scientific methods. 

Violence has occupied a significant place in the struggle for 
social change. Oppression by privileged classes has in all periods 
of human history led to outbursts of violence against the op¬ 
pressors. Terrorism, which is the destruction of property or 
the assassination of leaders of the ruling group, seldom accom¬ 
plishes any lasting results. The activity of the Ku Klux Klan 
following the Civil War is an American example. This method 
stimulates more hatred than existed before. Revolution is 
large-scale violence and bloodshed. It involves an intense 
amount of human suffering, and an emotional element that 
prevents it from being intelligently directed. Moreover, it lacks 
discrimination and wipes out much that is valuable along with 
much that is useless. 

Therefore, non-violent coercion is the safest and sanest way 
to secure results. It is necessary then to distinguish between 
the various ways included in this comprehensive method. The 
strike and the boycott are often used effectively by labor, but 
very frequently they merge into violence which is undesirable 
in any form. The most striking case of passive resistance is 
the non-cooperation movement in India led by Mahatma Gandhi. 


86 


EXPOSITION 


This method is refusal to retaliate and an expression of good 
will toward the offenders. Although it is a highly moral pro¬ 
cedure, it appeals to only a small minority and achieves little 
direct results. 

It is obvious, therefore, that the most human yet most 
efficient way to bring about change is to employ those methods 
that make for the enlightenment of the people, and eventually 
achieve the desired results. Society, by intelligently and deter¬ 
minedly using its voting power, can place honest and efficient 
men in official positions and secure orderly government. By 
research and scientific study in the social sciences we can improve 
the social phases of our culture, and by education we can over¬ 
come the inertia of the masses. 

The use of politics, social science, and education in effecting 
deliberate cultural change is the most expedient way. 

— Paul W. Glick 

SUGGESTED SUBJECTS 

The Best Place to Dance 

The Best Method of Travel 

Why a University Is Better Than a Small College 

The Best Restaurant near the Campus 

The Most Useful Notebook 

The Best Fountain Pen 

The Best Way to Take Notes 

Which Car Is Cheapest to Run? 

Are Heavier-than-air Craft More Practical than Dirigibles? 

The Best Draft Animal for Farmers 

The Most Practical Property Insurance 

Artificial Versus Real Silk 

The Cheapest Building Material 

The Best Method of Preparing a Microscope Slide 

The Most Selective Radio 

Typewriter Versus Fountain Pen 

The City Manager Plan 

Is It Better to Belong to a Fraternity? 

Mass Production Versus Handcraft 


8. A JUDGMENT OF IDEAS 


In the discussion of What It Is (pp. 36 et seq.) we 
noted two kinds of definition, namely, formal and informal, 
but considered at some length only the former in accept¬ 
able literary dress. Now, in A Judgment of Ideas, we 
return to definition, this time to the other kind, the in¬ 
formal, as either an end in itself or as a means to an end. 

We are likely to find that judgments of ideas are more 
difficult to make than judgments of things. When we 
deal with a thing we have something definite and concrete 
to study. In handling ideas, on the contrary, we are for 
the most part in the realm of the abstract, and so are in 
constant danger of becoming confused. It behooves us, 
therefore, to make haste slowly in our thinking and writing. 

In thinking through and writing out an idea we are 
really formulating a definition; not a scientific definition, 
to which all who know the subject must inevitably agree, 
but an informal definition, which is of merit according 
to the individual thought, reflection, and discrimination 
that evidently enter into it. A similar problem, simply 
on a larger scale, is involved in our thinking through 
and judicially comparing two or more ideas, for of neces¬ 
sity a judgment is in itself an idea and so is also a definition, 
either by implication or by direct assertion. 

Let us come now to closer grips with the problem. 
Consider the concept or idea embodied in the word friend. 
A good dictionary defines friend as “one attached to 
another by esteem and affection.” Does that fully satisfy 
you? Don’t you feel that a great deal more needs to be 
said before your notion of friendship is adequately ex- 

87 


88 


EXPOSITION 


pressed? If you do feel so, you are in distinguished com¬ 
pany; you feel as did Cicero and Montaigne and Bacon 
and Emerson and others too numerous to name. 

For thinking through and writing out this sort of defini¬ 
tion, however, only a few very general suggestions can 
be given. One way is to write out all that occurs to 
you just as it comes into your mind, following what is 
sometimes called the law of association, and then to 
revise what is thus written, making sure that it mani¬ 
fests at least the Aristotelian virtues of a beginning, a 
middle, and an end — that is, an introduction and a con¬ 
clusion as well as a “body.” Another way is to think 
out beforehand all the possible meanings of your subject, 
including, of course, the definition given by the dictionary. 
After questioning these logically you will be able to elimi¬ 
nate those which are least accurate, arriving eventually 
at that statement of the idea which most nearly agrees 
with your own judgment. 

If you follow this second and better course your pro¬ 
cedure may take shape something like this: 

Subject: Success 

1. Success may be considered as either 

a. Money, 

b. Fame, 

c. Power, or 

d. Social position. 

2. The dictionary defines success as “the favorable termina¬ 

tion of anything attempted; attainment of a pro¬ 
posed object.” 

Now let us examine these concepts of success. We 
can readily see that the mere possession of money means 
little, since money may be simply inherited, or acquired 
dishonestly. Can we permit dishonesty to have a place 


A JUDGMENT OP IDEAS 


89 

in success, as we conceive of the term? If not, then fame, 
power, and social position, all of which may be inherited, 
or arrived at by dishonest means, cannot be considered 
equivalents of success. We are left then with the diction¬ 
ary definition, and here again enters in the moral question. 
For, consider the burglar! He may be a great success 
in the eyes of his underworld associates, but hardly in 
those of society. Our problem is still unsolved. Power, 
wealth, rank, fame, and the mere “attainment of a pro¬ 
posed object” — all have failed to satisfy us. 

Let us seek an example of an individual whom we all 
shall consider a success, and see if we can work backward. 
Consider an obscure country doctor, whose aim has been 
to relieve suffering and conserve life, who has had no 
desire for wealth, fame, power, or social position, and who 
has, in fact, gained none of those emoluments which the 
world holds so dear. He has, however, reached the 
“attainment of a proposed object.” How, then, does he 
differ from the burglar? Obviously, his object has been 
a worthy one, and he has reached it by worthy means. 
What the doctor has done has been for the good of many, 
himself included only incidentally. What the burglar does 
he does for his own good only, and to the injury of many. 
Our judgment is clear: Success is the attainment of a 
socially worthy object through honest or worthy means. 

It may be that not everybody will agree with our 
definition. That does not matter. We have reached it 
through a process of logical elimination and modifica¬ 
tion of ideas; if someone else believes he can do better, 
let him try. We shall not be opinionated; another course 
of logic might show us a different result. And therefore, 
let us write our theme and throw it out into the stream 
of man’s thought, in hope that, at least, it may wash up 
on the shores of another, better mind, than ours. 


go 


EXPOSITION 


SUCCESS 

Success means many things to many people. To some it 
means money, material possessions, wealth; to others it means 
fame, or merely notoriety; to still others it means high social 
position; and to some it means power, authority, dominion 
over others. The dictionary defines it as “the favorable ter¬ 
mination of anything attempted; attainment of a proposed 
object.” 

But money may be inherited, or acquired dishonestly; fame 
may be undeserved, or also inherited; social position and power, 
too, may come as the result of chance or wrongdoing. Surely 
we cannot permit our conception of success to be broad enough 
to include those whose eminence has come through chance or 
dishonesty. Consider the burglar: in his own eyes and in those 
of his underworld associates he is a success; he can claim for 
himself the favorable termination of anything attempted as 
long as he gets away with his loot. But from the point of view 
of society he is a failure. 

Let us contrast the burglar with one whose activities fit the 
dictionary definition with equal accuracy, yet who achieves no 
power, wealth, fame, or social success — an obscure country 
doctor. His aim is to heal where healing is scientifically possible, 
and he succeeds. His aim is worthy, from society’s point of 
view, and his methods are honest. The burglar’s aim is un¬ 
worthy, and his methods are dishonest. 

Surely, then, we are forced to the conclusion that true success 
is the favorable termination by honest means of a socially worthy 
endeavor. 

Student Themes 


COURAGE 

Courage has many meanings to many people. To some it 
means bravery; to others it means boldness; to others it is an 
adventurous spirit, daring; to still others it means fearlessness, 
and to some it means heroism. The dictionary defines courage 


A JUDGMENT OP IDEAS 


91 


as “that quality of mind which meets danger and opposition 
with intrepidity, calmness, and firmness.” 

Bravery is a much weaker term than courage because bravery 
has no moral element. A convict may show bravery in making 
his escape from prison, but he certainly could not be called 
courageous. The other definitions are equally weak. Boldness 
implies forwardness, audacity, and an open disregard of con¬ 
vention. Daring is more of a showiness and display for the 
sake of effect, such as is exhibited by a stunt flyer or a man 
who goes over Niagara Falls in a barrel. Then, too, fearlessness 
shows an absolute lack of fear or timidity in any situation. A 
ruthless criminal may be entirely without fear of consequences, 
and still be far from courageous. Prowess is merely physical 
bravery and has no place in matters which require courage, like 
facing censure and detraction for conscience’ sake. Heroism 
applies to deeds only, and is often the result of chance rather 
than of any special attempt. 

A courageous man must have deep and enduring elements of 

character. I would change the dictionary definition to read 

like this: that quality of mind and heart which meets danger 

and opposition, to which it is keenly sensitive, with intrepidity, 

calmness, and firmness even though contempt and disapproval 

may result. _ T . T 

— R. I. Molter 


CHIVALRY 

The dictionary defines chivalry as “the knightly system of 
feudal times, disinterested courtesy, bravery, and magnanimity.” 
Of these four synonyms “disinterested courtesy ” is undoubtedly 
the best. 

According to popular opinion the knights of old were chiv¬ 
alrous to the nth degree, but, as usual, popular opinion is slightly 
wrong. After all, the three fundamental life processes are the 
procuring of food, avoiding danger, and marriage. Now when 
one of these medieval heroes went out to kill a dragon, he wasn’t 
seeking food because dragons are not edible; he wasn’t avoiding 
danger because killing dragons wasn’t exactly child’s play. 


92 


EXPOSITION 


Consequently, he must have been trying to make an impression 
on some member of the fair sex. Killing dragons may have 
been called chivalrous, but it certainly was not disinterested 
courtesy. Even Sir Galahad, the boy who batted one thousand 
in the chivalry league, was probably glad to have the news that 
he had found the mug get back to the folks at home. To 
strengthen my point still further, let us consider Sir Walter 
Raleigh. He may have been dubbed chivalrous because he 
protected Queen Elizabeth’s shoes by allowing her to step on 
his cloak, but in reality he only spoiled a good garment. He 
did, however, manage to impress the Queen enough so that she 
financed an expedition to America. His act does not exactly 
express disinterested courtesy. 

You are probably beginning to wonder if chivalry ever 
actually existed. Well, strange as it may seem, modem times 
provide us with an excellent example of disinterested courtesy. 
Letting a Mack tmck have half the road may be self-preserva¬ 
tion, but letting an Austin have half the road is chivalry. 


— Gillette Martin 


SUGGESTED SUBJECTS 


Honor 

Courage 

Cowardice 

Chivalry 

Courtesy 

Duty 

Friendship 


Aristocracy 

Politeness 

Opinion 


Democracy 

Republicanism 


Patriotism 

Socialism 


Conceit 

Modesty 

Romance 

Loyalty 


Wisdom 


Wit, or Humor 
Knowledge 


Part III: Some Special Problems 










THE ABSTRACT 


Hamlet is a name; his speeches and sayings but the idle 
coinage of the poet’s brain. What, then, are they not real? 
They are as real as our own thoughts. Their reality is in the 
reader’s mind. It is we who are Hamlet. This play has a 
prophetic truth, which is above that of history. Whoever has 
become thoughtful and melancholy through his own mishaps or 
those of others; whoever has borne about with him the clouded 
brow of reflection, and thought himself “too much i’ the sun’’; 
whoever has seen the golden lamp of day dimmed by envious 
mists rising in his own breast, and could find in the world before 
him only a dull blank with nothing left remarkable in it; who¬ 
ever has known “the pangs of despised love, the insolence of 
office, or the spurns which patient merit of the unworthy takes’’; 
he who has felt his mind sink within him, and sadness cling to 
his heart like a malady, who has had his hopes blighted and his 
youth staggered by the apparition of strange things; who can¬ 
not be well at ease, while he sees evil hovering near him like a 
spectre; whose powers of action have been eaten up by thought; 
he to whom the universe seems infinite, and himself nothing; 
whose bitterness of soul makes him careless of consequences, 
and who goes to a play as his best resource to shove off, to a 
second remove, the evils of life by a mock representation of 
them — this is the true Hamlet. 

This paragraph from Hazlitt’s essay on Hamlet is an 
excellent example of his brilliant and allusive style. We 
are now concerned, however, not with style but with sub¬ 
stance. What is the thought expressed by the paragraph? 
By diligent elimination and abstraction we arrive at the 
following: 

Although Hamlet is only a character in a play, he is as real 
as our thoughts. Whoever has been melancholy because of evil 

95 


96 


EXPOSITION 


happenings, too much thought, an unhappy love affair, a rebuff 
from his superiors; whoever has felt all the symptoms of a 
melancholy which makes life seem not worth living, is a Hamlet. 

But still we have not taken out the one main thought, 
which is simply: 

Although Hamlet is only a character in a play, he represents 
every man who has ever been melancholy. 

Thus we have carried to its furthest possible point the 
process of explanation by abstraction. 

An abstract, or digest, is a condensation of a longer 
piece of writing. It seeks to preserve the content of the 
original, but to make that content more readily under¬ 
standable by presenting it with the utmost brevity. The 
original writer begins with a skeleton of thought and then 
covers it with the magic flesh of words. In the present 
exercise it is our business to strip off this flesh and so to 
disclose again the skeleton that lies beneath it. As a city 
editor would say, we “boil down” the original. 

This method of explanation is of great value to students. 
All of your instructors expect you to understand the writers 
they direct you to read. Consciously or unconsciously you 
make abstracts as you read; as you go along you seek 
out and record, either mentally or in your notebooks, the 
most important facts and ideas. Again, as you listen to 
lectures you take notes, and so make abstracts of a sort. 
And you are not alone in this business of utilizing ab¬ 
stracts: engineers, lawyers, advertising men, journalists, 
editors — all make constant use of abstracts. 

The prime virtue of an abstract [is conciseness. Ob¬ 
serve in the example above that Hazlitt’s long paragraph 
is reduced finally to one short sentence. Conciseness may 
be attained in the first place by omitting from the ab¬ 
stract much material present in the original: illustra- 


THE ABSTRACT 


97 


tions, examples, anecdotes, quotations, figures of speech, 
repetitions for effect, and all elaborate introductions and 
transitions. Conciseness may be attained also by looking 
to main ideas only and by stating them as briefly as clear¬ 
ness will permit. 

All abstracts, particularly in their restatements of ideas 
expressed in the original, must be accurate. In an ab¬ 
stract we may, indeed, rearrange the thoughts of the 
original, though rearrangement is dangerous because it 
may obscure the meaning of the writer and so defeat our 
purpose. We may also reparagraph the original, if our 
new paragraphing marks more clearly the main divisions 
of the thought; but ever and always we must be accurate. 
And since our personal opinions and reactions were no 
part of the original, we must studiously keep them out 
of the abstract. 

Mindful of these principles we may now proceed to 
make an abstract of a fairly long exposition. There are 
two techniques that we may use, either the journalistic 
(which allows the use of such expressions as “The speaker 
said,” or “He concluded, therefore,” etc.), or the direct 
(which uses the words and structures of the original expo¬ 
sition, keeping to the original tenses, modes, and voices). 
Which of these to use is a question for the student to de¬ 
cide with regard both for his purpose and for his audience. 

Let us see what we can do with Patrick Henry’s famous 
speech before the Virginia Convention of 1775: 

Mr. President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions 
of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth — 
and listen to the song of that siren, till she transforms us into 
beasts. Is this the part of liberty? Are we disposed to be of 
the number of those, who having eyes, see not, and having 
ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal 
salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may 


EXPOSITION 


98 

cost, I am willing to know the whole truth; to know the worst 
and to provide for it. 

I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that 
is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the 
future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to 
know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry 
for the last ten years, to justify those hopes with which gentle¬ 
men have been pleased to solace themselves and the house? Is 
it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately 
received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. 
Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask your¬ 
selves how this gracious reception of our petition comports 
with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and 
darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of 
love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling 
to be reconciled, that force must be called in to win our love? 
Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of 
war and subjugation — the last arguments to which kings 
resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if 
its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen 
assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any 
enemy in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumula¬ 
tion of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are 
meant for us: they can be meant for no other. They are sent 
over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British 
ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to 
oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been 
trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to 
offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject 
up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in 
vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? 
What terms shall we find which have not been already ex¬ 
hausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves 
longer. Sir, we have done everything that could be done, to 
avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned — 
we have remonstrated — we have supplicated — we have pros¬ 
trated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its 


THE ABSTRACT 


99 

interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and 
Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remon¬ 
strances have produced additional violence and insult; our 
supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned 
with contempt, from the foot of the throne. In vain, after 
these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and recon¬ 
ciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish 
to be free — if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable 
privileges for which we have been so long contending — if we 
mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we 
have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves 
never to abandon, until the glorious object of our contest shall 
be obtained — we must fight! — I repeat it, sir, we must fight! 
An appeal to arms and to the God of Hosts, is all that is left us! 

They tell us, sir, that we are weak — unable to cope with so 
formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will 
it be the next week or the next year? Will it be when we are 
totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed 
in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and 
inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance 
by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive 
phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand 
and foot? Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of 
those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. 
Three millions of people armed in the holy cause of liberty, and 
in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by 
any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, 
we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who 
presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up 
friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the 
strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Be¬ 
sides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire 
it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no 
retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged. 
Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war 
is inevitable — and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come! 

It is vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, 


IOO 


EXPOSITION 


peace, peace —but there is no peace. The war is actually 
begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring 
to our ears the clash of resounding arms. Our brethren are 
already in the field. Why stand we here idle? What is it that 
gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or 
peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and 
slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course 
others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me 
death! 

In our abstract we shall employ the journalistic method 
as the more appropriate for condensing the substance 
of a political speech: 

AN ABSTRACT OF PATRICK HENRY’S SPEECH BEFORE 
THE VIRGINIA CONVENTION OF 1775 

Mr. Henry declared that he refused to be deluded by hope; 
he wanted to know the truth. Experience had shown him that 
the British ministry was not to be trusted. Obviously, he 
maintained, Great Britain was assembling its forces in America 
to bind upon the Americans the chains which the ministry had 
forged. He denied the usefulness of further argument or en¬ 
treaty. He deemed that the Americans had done all they could 
to avert the storm, without success. There was no longer room 
for hope. If they wished to be free they must fight. 

Mr. Henry agreed that the colonists were weak, but he saw 
no hope of their becoming stronger merely by waiting and 
hoping. And they were not weak, he affirmed, if they used the 
resources God had given them. Besides, God would fight on 
their side, and would raise up friends to aid them. 

Mr. Henry closed with the declaration that war was inevi¬ 
table. His own attitude he expressed in the words: “Give me 
liberty or give me death.” 


THE ABSTRACT 


IOI 


SUGGESTIONS FOR ABSTRACTS 

Essays 

Bacon: Of Truth , Of Studies , Of Adversity 
Lamb: Poor Relations , Old China , The Praise of Chimney- 
Sweepers 
Emerson: Gifts 

De Quincey: On the Knocking at the Gate in “Macbeth” 
Stevenson: El Dorado 
Speeches 

Jefferson’s First Inaugural Address 
Lincoln’s Second Inaugural Address 

Burke’s Peroration to the Speech Moving the Impeachment 
of Warren Hastings 

Theodore Roosevelt’s Inaugural Address 


THE PARAPHRASE 


Most of us are faced quite often in ordinary conversa¬ 
tion with the necessity of explaining ourselves. Some¬ 
thing we say is not immediately understood, and we 
are asked to make our meaning more clear. Thereupon 
we repeat what we have said, unchanged in substance 
but differently expressed, perhaps at greater length, per¬ 
haps only in simpler language. 

Frequently, too, we are called upon for paraphrases 
in college classrooms, particularly in courses in literature. 
There, however, we find compliance to be more difficult, 
because there the subject matter is usually not our own 
but that of some celebrated author. Almost all instructors 
believe that through our paraphrases they can check up 
on our understanding; they maintain that if we really 
understand a given passage in prose or verse we can set 
forth its substance in words of our own. Sometimes they 
call upon us for extemporaneous paraphrases, and in these 
cases we count ourselves fairly successful if we manage 
to explain any of the author’s meaning at all. Sometimes, 
however, they assign us something to paraphrase with 
special thoughtfulness and care in the quiet of our study 
rooms, and in that circumstance we may reasonably be 
expected to perform on a distinctly higher plane. 

Suppose that we have been directed to paraphrase 
Shakespeare’s sonnet: 

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 
I summon up remembrance of things past, 

I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, 

And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste: 

102 


THE PARAPHRASE 


103 


Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, 

For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night, 

And weep afresh love’s long since cancelled woe, 

And moan the expense of many a vanished sight: 

Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, 

And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er 
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, 

Which I new pay as if not paid before. 

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, 

All losses are restored and sorrows end. 

Our business at the outset is to read and reread the 
piece until we master its meaning thoroughly — until we 
understand it not only as a whole, though such under¬ 
standing must certainly be our starting point, but also 
until we understand it thought by thought, line by line, 
phrase by phrase, word by word. But even when we 
reach this point we are not yet ready to write; we still 
have to look carefully into the structure of the piece, 
to see whether we can preserve its outlines in our para¬ 
phrase, for the paraphrase that best reflects the writer’s 
structural design will be the one that best mirrors his 
thought. 

Let us first study the form and structure of our poem. 
We see at once that this is a sonnet of the English type: 
fourteen lines in iambic pentameter, arranged in three 
quatrains and a couplet, and rhyming abab, cdcd, efef, 
gg. In sense, the first quatrain is nearly complete in 
itself; so, virtually, is the second, and also the third. 
Then comes the couplet, and this, too, is almost complete 
in itself. The degree of self-completeness in the parts 
of this sonnet is obviously remarkable, and it will be 
well if we can reflect this excellent technical characteristic 
in our paraphrase — by separate sentences, say, for each 
of the quatrains and the couplet. 


104 


EXPOSITION 


Observe further that the quatrains follow one another 
easily and naturally in thought sequence, and that the 
couplet, while adroitly turning and concluding the thought, 
follows similarly. To hold very close to Shakespeare’s 
ease and grace would tax the powers of even a professional 
writer, but nevertheless we should try to preserve at 
least some semblance of it in our paraphrase. 

Notice finally that the quatrains and the couplet are 
unified also by their conjunctive elements: the first qua¬ 
train begins with “When,” the second and third with 
“Then,” and the couplet with “But if the while.” Care¬ 
fully preserving these connecting words, either as they 
stand or with equivalent words and phrases, will go far 
toward keeping in our paraphrase something of the strik¬ 
ing and admirable unity of the original. 

We had the substance of our selection thoroughly in 
hand before we turned our attention to its form and 
structure. Now, and still before we begin to write, let 
us determine exactly what is expected of us in the para¬ 
phrase proper. 

The dictionary informs us that the word “paraphrase” 
came into English through Latin from Greek, and that 
in all three languages it has maintained precisely the same 
meaning, namely, “saying the same thing in other words.” 
To put it somewhat more formally, a paraphrase is “a 
restatement of a text, passage, or work, giving the meaning 
in another form, usually for clearer and fuller exposition.” 
Observe that a paraphrase is simply a restatement, that 
is, another statement, and not a different statement: we 
are permitted to make no change whatever in the essential 
meaning of the original. 

On the other hand, it is apparent that we may use 
as many words in our rendering as we wish. In general, 
too, they will be different words, usually more simple 


THE PARAPHRASE 


105 


and closer to our local idiom. But as for the key words 
or pivotal words, those which convey the main ideas, 
we shall probably be wise to leave them for the most part 
untouched. Remember that it is not our purpose entirely 
to rewrite the poem; but, by substituting our own words 
and phrases for the figurative language of the poet, to 
clarify his meaning. 

And, finally, it is likely that in some passages we shall 
not be able to paraphrase word by word, but shall have 
to find equivalents for larger elements in thought — here 
for a phrase, there for a whole clause, and so on. 

With these general considerations in mind, we are now 
prepared to work out our paraphrase in detail. Let us 
begin by taking up only a line or two at a time: 

(1-2) When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 
I summon up remembrance of things past , 

Sessions, we may happen to know, or find out by the use 
of a standard dictionary, are a kind of lower tribunal in 
English law, and we still speak of a court’s being “in 
session.” Summon up is likewise an older form of a law 
term that survives; culprits are still “summoned” before 
courts, though usually we say nowadays that they are 
* ‘ called up. ” Evidently we are dealing here with a rhetori¬ 
cal figure drawn from the law courts, and it will be to 
our credit if we can preserve it. Fortunately we can, as 
follows: 

When I call up memories of past things 
before the court of sweet silent thought. 

(3) I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought , 

“Regret” may serve, feebly, for sigh. (Obviously, one 
can’t paraphrase his Shakespeare and have him too!) 
“Many things” is approximately the same as many a 


io6 


EXPOSITION 


thing. And “looked for” holds closely to the sense of 
sought. So we have as our version of this line: 

I regret the lack of many things I looked for. 

(4) And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste: 

For new we may put “again”; for wail, “makes (me) 
weep for”; for dear , “valuable”; and for with old woes , 
“the memory of old woes.” Putting these together we 
have: 

And the memory of old woes makes me weep 
again for my waste of valuable time. 

Thus far we have not encountered much difficulty, 
though surely it has dawned upon us that it is a sort of 
profanity to thin and dilute the amazingly apt words 
chosen by the poet — unless as a step toward interpreta¬ 
tion, or perhaps to make the meaning clear to someone 
who otherwise could not understand it, or — to demon¬ 
strate our understanding to a doubting instructor! 

Be that as it may, we come up against a real problem 
in the next line, though otherwise the quatrain is simple 
enough: 

(5-8) Then can I drown an eye , unused to flow , 

For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, 

And weep afresh love's long since canceled woe , 

And moan the expense of many a vanished sight: 

Drown an eye we can reduce to plain “weep,” and un¬ 
used still means “unaccustomed.” But it must already 
be clear that to continue along this path, that is, para¬ 
phrasing word by word, would be to plunge at last into 
absurdity — into, say, something like this: “Then can 
I weep, unaccustomed to run!” This is manifestly a line 
that needs to be recast almost in its entirety. After 
pondering for a while we may venture something like this: 


THE PARAPHRASE 


107 


At such a time, though usually I am dry-eyed, 

I weep for dear friends who are dead, cry 
over dead love as if it were a recent loss, 
and think sorrowfully of the cost of many 
visions that are gone. 

(9-12) Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, 

And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, 

Which I new pay as if not paid before. 

This third quatrain is like the first one in that it is built 
up around a dominant rhetorical figure. But this figure, 
drawn from the business world, is more immediately 
familiar to us than was the other, and ought therefore 
to be easier to maintain. To put it plainly, the poet 
pictures himself as going over a list of his woes as if he 
were gloomily checking through a stack of accounts. 

(“To put it plainly/’ however, is not to “pep it up”; 
and we shall show bad taste, here as elsewhere, if we sacri¬ 
fice the dignity of the original to the vulgarity of slang 
or to the superficiality of mere cleverness; if we slip, say, 
from the somewhat formal but proper term, “account,” 
to “bill,” adequate for the purposes of ordinary conver¬ 
sation, but unsuitable in a paraphrase of a piece of litera¬ 
ture.) 

At that time, too, I brood bitterly over 
old scores, gloomily from woe to woe check 
through the sad account of sorrow once 
mourned, and pay it again as if I had not 
paid it before. 

(13-14) But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, 

All losses are restored and sorrows end. 

There remains only to assemble the segments of our 
rendering into a final whole: 


io8 


EXPOSITION 


PARAPHRASE OF SHAKESPEARE’S SONNET 
WEEN TO TEE SESSIONS 

When I call up memories of past things before the court of 
sweet silent thought, I regret the lack of many things I looked 
for, and the memory of old woes makes me weep again for my 
waste of valuable time. 

At such a time, though usually I am dry-eyed, I weep for 
dear friends who are dead, cry over dead love as if it were a 
recent loss, and think sorrowfully of the cost of many visions 
that are gone. 

At that time, too, I brood bitterly over old scores, gloomily 
from woe to woe check through the sad account of sorrow once 
mourned, and pay it again as if I had not paid it before. 

But, dear friend, if I then think of you, my losses are restored 
and my sorrows end. 

Student Paraphrases 

ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT 

Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones 
Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold; 

Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old, 

When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones, 

Forget not: in thy book record their groans 
Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold 
Slain by the bloody Piedmontese, that rolled 
Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans 
The vales redoubled to the hills, and they 
To heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes sow 
O’er all th’ Italian fields, where still doth sway 
The triple Tyrant; that from these may grow 
A hundredfold, who, having learnt thy way, 

Early may fly the Babylonian woe. 

— John Milton 

O Lord, avenge thy slaughtered saints whose bones lie scat¬ 
tered on the cold Alpine mountains. Do not forget those who 


THE PARAPHRASE 


109 

in the days of old kept thy truth pure when others were wor¬ 
shipping idols. 

In thy book record the sufferings of thy followers, who in 
their ancient church were slain by the bloody Piedmontese who 
rolled mothers with infants down the rocks. Their moans 
echoed from the vales to the hills, and thence to heaven. 

Sow their martyred blood and ashes over the Italian fields 
where the triple Tyrant is still supreme, so that from these may 
grow hundreds, who early having learned thy way, will escape 

the destruction which fell upon Babylon. T ^ , , 

— I. R. Molter 

THAT TIME OF YEAR 

That time of year thou mayst in me behold 
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang 
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, 

Bare ruin’d choirs where late the sweet birds sang. 

In me thou see’st the twilight of such day 
As after sunset fadeth in the west; 

Which by and by black night doth take away, 

Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest. 

In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire 
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, 

As the death-bed whereon it must expire, 

Consumed with that which it was nourish’d by. 

This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong 
To love that well which thou must leave ere long. 

— William Shakespeare 

You see me as a tree in late fall; with its almost leafless 
boughs, where birds recently sang, shaking in the cold air. 

You see me as fading twilight, which by and by will be 
taken away by the black night; just as death takes away life. 

You see me as a slowly dying fire that will soon be consumed 
by the things that gave it life. 

You see these things and love me all the more, because I 
will soon be leaving you. 


— H. L. PlNNEY 


no 


EXPOSITION 


SUGGESTED SUBJECTS 
hamlet’s soliloquy 

To be, or not to be: that is the question: 

Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, 

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 

And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep; 

No more; and by a sleep to say we end 
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks 
That flesh is heir to, ’tis a consummation 
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep; 

To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub; 

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come 
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 

Must give us pause. There’s the respect 
That makes calamity of so long life; 

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, 

The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely, 
The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay, 

The insolence of office and the spurns 
That patient merit of the unworthy takes, 

When he himself might his quietus make 
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear, 

To grunt and sweat under a weary life, 

But that the dread of something after death, 

The undiscover’d country from whose bourn 
No traveller returns, puzzles the will 
And makes us rather bear those ills we have 
Than fly to others that we know not of? 

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; 

And thus the native hue of resolution 
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought, 

And enterprises of great pitch and moment 
With this regard their currents turn awry, 

And lose the name of action. 

— William Shakespeare 


THE PARAPHRASE 


in 


THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US 

The world is too much with us; late and soon, 
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: 
Little we see in Nature that is ours; 

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! 

This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; 

The winds that will be howling at all hours, 

And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; 

For this, for everything, we are out of tune; 

It moves us not. — Great God! I’d rather be 
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; 

So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, 

Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; 

Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; 

Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. 

— William Wordsworth 


THE INTERPRETATION 

According to the dictionary, interpretation is “explana¬ 
tion of what is obscure.” Sometimes the obscure can 
be clarified merely by expressing it in other words; but, 
as we have seen, that is not properly interpretation but 
paraphrase. Interpretation properly consists in illuminat¬ 
ing the obscure, particularly in literature, by translating 
it into terms of quite different literal meaning, yet into 
words true to the essential inner meaning. Interpreta¬ 
tion may involve conscious paraphrase as a preliminary 
step, and indeed often does; but its chief purpose, to 
repeat, is to reveal the hidden meaning. 

At least ideally, this hidden meaning runs parallel to 
the obvious surface meaning. It follows, then, that inter¬ 
pretations are of merit in the degree to which they show 
the inner meaning of any work as parallel to its outer and 
apparent meaning, both in general and in minute detail. 
Further, if several interpretations are possible, that one 
is best which most nearly meets two further requirements: 
first, that it accord with known and pertinent facts; 
second, that its significance be broad and deep. 

Consider a few poems that need to be interpreted to 
be properly understood. First, an old favorite from Long¬ 
fellow : 


THE ARROW AND THE SONG 

I shot an arrow into the air, 

It fell to earth, I knew not where; 
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight 
Could not follow it in its flight. 
112 


THE INTERPRETATION 


113 

I breathed a song into the air, 

It fell to earth, I knew not where; 

For who has sight so keen and strong, 

That it can follow the flight of song? 

Long, long afterward, in an oak 
I found the arrow, still unbroke; 

And the song, from beginning to end, 

I found again in the heart of a friend. 

One can take these verses literally: he can picture an 
archer releasing a shaft from his bow and afterwards 
finding it fast in the trunk of a tree; he can, too, conceive 
of a singer as singing a song, and learning later that a 
friend who heard it had memorized it. Thus literally 
understood, however, the lines are without significance 
and with little or no reason for being. 

But, on the other hand, one can find in them an inner 
meaning; he can see that the arrow is merely a symbol, 
say for a slur about someone; that the opposite, a kind 
word, is likened to a song; and that both slur and kind 
word live on indefinitely in the bosoms of the persons 
for whom they were originally intended. Thus thought¬ 
fully understood the piece has some meaning, the special 
kind of meaning that used to be fashionable in poetry 
and was called a “moral,” a kind of meaning that probably 
will always be attractive to children and to those adults 
who remain children mentally. 

(Observe that the two preceding paragraphs constitute 
in themselves a simple interpretation: a paraphrase, plus 
a bit of comment, and then the interpretation proper, 
plus another word or two of comment.) 

Somewhat more difficult is Emily Dickinson’s I Held 
a Jewel in My Fingers: 


EXPOSITION 


114 


I held a jewel in my fingers 
And went to sleep. 

The day was warm, the winds were prosy; 

I said, “Twill keep.” 

I woke and chid my honest fingers,— 

The gem was gone; 

And now an amethyst remembrance 
Is all I own . 1 

Though a certain type of mind will wonder just what 
is meant by “prosy” winds, “honest” fingers, and “ame¬ 
thyst” remembrance (evidences, not here to be examined, 
of the writing of a superior poet), these stanzas also can 
be understood literally: the poet dozed off to sleep with a 
precious stone in her hand, but on waking discovered that 
it was gone, and so has now only the memory of it. 
Such understanding, however, is even less satisfactory 
here than it was in the former case. 

Likewise more difficult here is the search for and de¬ 
termination of the hidden meaning. The key to it lies 
in the word “gem”; what are we to take it to mean? 
Perhaps before we proceed we ought to enlarge our view of 
interpretation. So far we have apparently been assum¬ 
ing that for poems which need interpretation there is 
just one meaning. But, in the absence of a specific 
interpretation by the poet himself (and such interpreta¬ 
tions are very rare), may there not be several possible 
and defensible interpretations? Experiment, as well as 
speculation, answers the question in the affirmative; when 
I Held a Jewel was read aloud to a group of students 
and they afterwards wrote out their interpretations, these 

1 From The Poems of Emily Dickinson , Centenary Edition, edited 
by Martha Dickinson Bianchi and Alfred Leete Hampson. Re¬ 
printed by permission of Little, Brown and Company. 


THE INTERPRETATION 


115 

proved to be surprisingly numerous: one suggested, in 
substance, that “a great thought not written down 
promptly may be forgotten”; another, that “a talent not 
utilized will atrophy”; still another, that “an opportunity 
not seized will be withdrawn”; a fourth, that “love not 
actively cherished may be lost”; a fifth, that “time not 
made use of is gone forever”; a sixth, that “life lived 
sluggishly results in diminished returns”; and so on. It 
follows that a superior interpreter will give tactful recogni¬ 
tion to other meanings than the one he has chosen, if two 
or more are reasonably possible. 

And one interpretation can hardly be pronounced to 
be right to the utter exclusion of all others. What we 
see in art, as in life, depends upon our background of 
experience, knowledge, and observation, upon our in¬ 
tellectual character, and upon our emotional responsive¬ 
ness. Even our mood, at the moment of impression, 
is to be taken into consideration: in one mood we may 
scorn the philosophy of Omar, and, in another, delight in 
it; or in one moment we may understand it in one sense, 
and at a later time in a quite different sense. So no one 
interpretation is likely ever to satisfy everyone, or even 
anyone at all times. Therein, perhaps, lies much of the 
fascination of work that properly calls for interpretation: 
it seems always to be clamoring for new study. 

Among several interpretations we are, of course, free 
to choose any one that we will. All choices not being 
equally good, however, we should in fairness to our¬ 
selves make the very best choice we can; and in writing 
it out we should also set forth the reasons for our choice. 
For instance, we may well make use of pertinent facts in 
the history of our author. Thus on the basis of the con¬ 
viction, general among her biographers, that Miss Dickin¬ 
son suffered an unfortunate love affair, we might fix upon 


n6 


EXPOSITION 


“love not actively cherished may be lost” as the inner 
meaning of her poem. 

On the other hand, we shall be wise to utilize general 
as well as particular facts. So we may better read the 
hidden meaning of I Held a Jewel as “life lived sluggishly 
results in diminished returns” not only because it is of 
greater general significance than the melancholy and ro¬ 
mantic interpretation, but also because the poet’s habitual 
course was to rise above the sentimental and, with the 
utmost simplicity, to pierce through to stark reality. 

Suppose you are directed to interpret one of Emerson’s 
philosophical poems: 


DAYS 

Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days, 

Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes, 

And marching single in an endless file, 

Bring diadems and fagots in their hands. 

To each they offer gifts after his will, 

Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all. 

I, in my pleached garden, watched the pomp, 

Forgot my morning wishes, hastily 
Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day 
Turned and departed silent. I, too late, 

Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn. 

You may set about your interpretation by making a 
preliminary analysis of the poem line by line: 

(i) Daughters of Time , the hypocritic Days, 

Obviously, from the initial capital letters of the words, both 
abstract time and its day-divisions are personified. 

(As for “hypocritic,” recall the first comment on 1 
Held a Jewel.) 


THE INTERPRETATION 117 

(2) Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes, 

The Days are silent, as if their mouths were swathed with 
mufflers. 

(“Dervishes” offers a difficulty akin to that of “hypo- 
critic.”) 

(3) And marching single in an endless file, 

They pass one by one forever, and so form a kind of procession. 

(4) Bring diadems and fagots in their hands. 

Here we feel the need for more than simple paraphrase, 
for interpretation proper: 

“Diadems,” worn by kings, are perhaps to be understood as 
symbols of proud regal state, and “fagots,” material for martyr- 
fires, as symbols of extreme physical suffering, or, as material 
for hearth-fires, symbols of lowly domesticity. 

(5) To each they offer gifts after his will, 

One can take from the Days whatever he chooses. 

(6) Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all. 
Here again we need interpretation proper: 

“Bread” may stand for any kind of merely physical gratifi¬ 
cation, “kingdoms” for earthly power in any of its many 
varieties, “stars” for visions of beauty such as artists have, and 
“sky that holds them all ” for all-embracing philosophical under¬ 
standing; the first two being more or less material, the last two, 
spiritual. 

(7) I, in my pleached garden, watched the pomp. 

The poet represents himself as in his garden while he looked 
upon the procession (line 3) of the laden Days (line 4). 

(As for “pleached,” consult a dictionary.) 


n8 


EXPOSITION 


(8) Forgot my morning wishes ,. 

“Morning wishes” stands perhaps for the lofty ambitions of 
the poet’s youth. 


. hastily 

(9) Took a few herbs and apples, . 

When at length there came to the poet the opportunities he 
had wished for, he, in forgetfulness and haste, took from the 
Days only material things. 

. and the Day 

(10) Turned and departed silent. 7 , too late , 

(11) Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn. 

Of course the Day made no audible comment (line 2), but 
under the fillet that bound her hair (that is, in her eyes) the 
poet read her scorn, that from all she offered him (lines 4 and 6) 
he had taken only material things (line 9) and not something 
more worthy, more spiritual. 

Finally, though there may seem to be in the poem nothing 
that clearly calls for it, you may look into the facts of 
Emerson’s life; if you do you will learn that in all his 
writings, as in his living, he was philosophical and ideal¬ 
istic. 

Then you whip your interpretation into final form: 

AN INTERPRETATION OF EMERSON’S DAYS 

In Days the poet represents himself as watching from his 
garden the pompous, endless, single-file procession of the Days, 
the daughters of Time, who, like muffled dervishes, pass silently 
by; as looking upon the gifts they offer for one to select from 
as he will — diadems and fagots — bread, kingdoms, stars, and 
sky that holds them all; as forgetting his morning wishes and 
hastily taking only a few herbs and apples; and as seeing Day’s 






THE INTERPRETATION 


119 


scorn too late. (Though the poem is written partly in the first 
person singular, we are to understand the “I” not as Emerson 
only, who in fact chose and maintained a really noble course in 
life, but as anyone and everyone, everywhere, in all times.) 

In other words, time brings all men what they will — regal 
state or martyr’s holiness — material wealth, power, beauty, or 
philosophy. If, when choice among these is offered us, we for¬ 
get the noble ambitions of our youth and select merely material 
things, we shall, too late for us to have another opportunity, be 
scorned. 


Student Interpretations 

AN INTERPRETATION OF LONGFELLOW’S NATURE 

In the sonnet Nature the poet compares a little child being 
coaxed to bed with people being led through life. Longfellow 
describes a fond mother, in the evening, leading her half willing 
and half reluctant child to bed. He also describes clearly the 
picture of the little boy gazing back through the open door at 
his broken toys, and the mother trying to comfort him with 
promises of others more splendid. Then the poet makes the 
comparison. In the same manner Nature deals with us. She 
takes our playthings away, and as she leads us to rest we do 
not know whether we want to go or not. We are too sleepy to 
understand how far the unknown exceeds what we know. 

Longfellow gives his conception of how people are led through 
life. That one by one we lose our joys and the things we hold 
dear. We are promised better and more beautiful things after 
this life, but still we look on the material side of life and are 
undecided what to do. We are led so gently that, as we near 
the end of life, we are not sure whether we want to live or go 
to sleep. Our minds are so filled with other thoughts that we 
do not consider the uncertainty of what the future has in store 
for us. This, I think, is the thought that Longfellow has expressed 
so beautifully in his poem. 


— Leon Fenstermacher 


120 


EXPOSITION 


ROBERT FROST’S MENDING WALL 

The poet feels that some mysterious force is working to pull 
down the wall. He comes upon gaps in the wall and is unable 
to explain them. Holes made by hunters are easily distinguished. 
The poet follows after the hunters and fills the gaps. Still the 
next spring other gaps are there, gaps whose making no one 
saw and no one heard. On a set day the author and his neighbor 
meet to walk the line and repair the wall. Wall-mending turns 
out to be a difficult task, even magic seeming necessary at 
times to hold the stones in place. The poet wonders why the 
wall is there — his land is planted with apple trees and his 
neighbor’s land with pine. The neighbor only replies, “Good 
fences make good neighbors.” 

“Something there is that doesn’t love a wall.” Cannot the 
wall mean the resistance to friendship? Some forces working 
toward friendship are easily seen and understood. Other forces, 
unseen and unheard, work constantly to tear down the walls of 
animosity between individuals, cliques, sections, nations, races. 
Yet we combat these forces, no matter how difficult it is to retain 
the barrier, even though a spell is necessary to make the boulders 
stay in our wall. The poet wonders why we have the wall. 
There is nothing to be separated. We take refuge in the old 
and dogmatic saying, “Good fences make good neighbors.” 
The poet wants a reason before he rules a potential friend from 
his list. To him we, his neighbors, are moving in mental dark¬ 
ness as we strive to exclude the joys and sorrows of those who 
would be our friends. Does not the poet believing “ Something 
there is that doesn’t love a wall” lead a happier, fuller life than 
his neighbor who plods through life hiding behind “Good fences 
make good neighbors”? _ Q R Bonnell 


THE INTERPRETATION 


121 


SUGGESTED SUBJECTS 
ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE 

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains 
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, 

Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains 

One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 

’Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, 

But being too happy in thine happiness, — 

That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, 

In some melodious plot 
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, 

Singest of summer in full-throated ease. 

0 for a draught of vintage! that hath been 
Cooled a long age in the deep-delv&d earth, 

Tasting of Flora and the country green, 

Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth! 

O for a beaker full of the warm South, 

Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, 

With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, 

And purple-stained mouth; 

That I might drink, and leave the world unseen. 
And with thee fade away into the forest dim: 

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget 
What thou among the leaves hast never known, 

The weariness, the fever, and the fret 

Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; 

Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, 

Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; 
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow 
And leaden-eyed despairs, 

Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, 

Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. 

Away! away! for I will fly to thee, 

Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, 


122 


EXPOSITION 


But on the viewless wings of Poesy, 

Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: 

Already with thee! tender is the night, 

And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, 

Clustered around by all her starry Fays; 

But here there is no light, 

Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown 
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. 

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, 

Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, 

But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet 
Wherewith the seasonable month endows 
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; 

White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; 

Fast fading violets covered up in leaves; 

And mid-May’s eldest child, 

The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, 

The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. 

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time 
I have been half in love with easeful Death, 

Called him soft names in many a mus&d rhyme, 

To take into the air my quiet breath; 

Now more than ever seems it rich to die, 

To cease upon the midnight with no pain, 

While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad 
In such an ecstasy! 

Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain — 

To thy high requiem become a sod. 

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! 

No hungry generations tread thee down; 

The voice I hear this passing night was heard 
In ancient days by emperor and clown: 

Perhaps the self-same song that found a path 

Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, 


THE INTERPRETATION 


123 


She stood in tears amid the alien corn; 

The same that oft-times hath 
Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam 
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. 

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell 
To toll me back from thee to my sole self, 

Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well 
As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. 

Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades 
Past the near meadows, over the still stream, 

Up the hill-side; and now ’tis buried deep 
In the next valley-glades: 

Was it a vision, or a waking dream? 

Fled is that music: — Do I wake or sleep? 

— John Keats 


MY LAST DUCHESS 
Ferrara 

That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall, 
Looking as if she were alive; I call 
That piece a wonder, now: Fr& Pandolf’s hands 
Worked busily a day, and there she stands. 
Will’t please you sit and look at her? I said 
‘Fr& Pandolf’ by design, for never read 
Strangers like you that pictured countenance, 
The depth and passion of its earnest glance, 

But to myself they turned (since none puts by 
The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) 

And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, 
How such a glance came there; so, not the first 
Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, ’twas not 
Her husband’s presence only, called that spot 
Of joy into the Duchess’ cheek: perhaps 
Fr& Pandolf chanced to say ‘ Her mantle laps 


124 


EXPOSITION 


Over my Lady’s wrist too much,’ or ‘Paint 

Must never hope to reproduce the faint 

Half-flush that dies along her throat’; such stuff 

Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough 

For calling up that spot of joy. She had 

A heart . . . how shall I say? . . . too soon made glad, 

Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er 

She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. 

Sir, ’twas all one! My favour at her breast, 

The dropping of the daylight in the West, 

The bough of cherries some officious fool 
Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule 
She rode with round the terrace — all and each 
Would draw from her alike the approving speech, 

Or blush, at least. She thanked men, — good; but thanked 

Somehow ... I know not how ... as if she ranked 

My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name 

With anybody’s gift. Who’d stoop to blame 

This sort of trifling? Even had you skill 

In speech — (which I have not) — to make your will 

Quite clear to such an one, and say ‘Just this 

Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, 

Or there exceed the mark’ — and if she let 
Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set 
Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse, 

— E’en then would be some stooping, and I choose 
Never to stoop. Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt, 

Whene’er I passed her; but who passed without 
Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands; 

Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands 
As if alive. Will’t please you rise? We’ll meet 
The company below, then. I repeat, 

The Count your master’s known munificence 
Is ample warrant that no just pretence 
Of mine for dowry will be disallowed; 

Though his fair daughter’s self, as I avowed 
At starting, is my object. Nay, we’ll go 


THE INTERPRETATION 


125 


Together down, sir! Notice Neptune, though, 
Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, 

Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me. 

— Robert Browning 

FURTHER SUGGESTED POEMS 

Robert Browning: Memorabilia , Earth's Immortalities 

Walter de la Mare: The Listeners 

Robert Louis Stevenson: Requiem 

Edgar Allan Poe: The Haunted Palace 

Edna St. Vincent Millay: Renascence , Euclid Alone 

Carl Sandburg: Chicago 

Robert Frost: Mending Wall 

Edwin Arlington Robinson: Miniver Cheevy, Richard Cory 
Stephen Crane: The Wayfarer 


THE CRITICISM 


To hasty or thoughtless people a critic is merely one 
who is habitually captious or fault-finding. But in the 
larger sense of the term a critic is an individual who, 
according to the dictionary, “judges anything by some 
standard or criterion, particularly one who so judges 
literary or artistic productions.” In other words, a critic 
evaluates the object of his judgment by comparing it with 
a standard in his own mind, a standard of judgment which 
has been arrived at through years of study of, as Matthew 
Arnold said, “the best that has been thought and said in 
the world.” 

It is not easy to be a critic, and you have some justifica¬ 
tion for submitting that you have not had those necessary 
years of study among the masterpieces of thought and 
art. But within recent years you have been at least ex¬ 
posed to some of those masterpieces, and you will come 
in contact with more of them as time goes on. It is worth 
while, therefore, to get away from the childish attitude of 
“I don’t know anything about art but I know what I 
like,” and strive for the more intelligent attitude which 
attempts to judge without reference to mere likes and 
dislikes. 

The German poet Goethe suggested a simple form of 
criticism which answers the following questions in order: 
what is the work to be judged (definition), what was the 
author trying to do (interpretation), how well did he 
succeed, and was it worth doing (judgments). Let us 
consider these steps, particularly the first and last, since 
you are already familiar with interpretation. 

126 


THE CRITICISM 


127 


In the definition of the literary form of the subject, 
rather full information should be given. Obviously the 
discussion should begin with the name of the author, 
the title of his work, and the date of its composition 
or publication. There may well be added such facts 
about the author as will help in the criticism that follows. 
Then the subject should be briefly characterized. For 
example, a poem may be long or short; it may be lyric, 
epic, or dramatic. It may, also, be described as sophisti¬ 
cated, sentimental, philosophical, contemplative, passion¬ 
ate, picturesque, or suggestive. A novel may deal with 
romance, adventure, love, mystery, psychology, domestic 
problems, or a dozen other matters. A play may be a 
romance, a tragi-comedy, a comedy of manners, a farce, 
a tragedy — but it is not our purpose to write a treatise 
on the forms of literature. 

The judgment is really two judgments, first of the ob¬ 
ject itself and second of its underlying idea. If, for 
example, we were criticizing John Masefield’s “Cargoes,” 
we might first dwell upon its technical excellence. We 
might speak of its effectiveness as a poem of the sea be¬ 
cause of its swinging rhythm; we might discuss its pic¬ 
torial quality which, without actually describing, yet 
pictures for us three such different ships and cargoes; 
or we might note its effectiveness in driving home the 
thought through the simplicity of the verse form and 
the concreteness and picturesqueness of the words. We 
judge how well the poet has done what he set out to do 
by comparing his poem with our standard for such poems, 
or by comparing it with other similar poems that we 
know. Our judgment here should agree with that of most 
other critics. Our personal attitudes are of no value. 

The second and more important judgment deals with 
a somewhat larger matter, namely, the validity and im- 


128 EXPOSITION^ 

portance of the poet’s thought. In our interpretation we 
conclude that the poet sought to point out the passing of 
romance and beauty on the sea. We cannot dismiss his 
thought with merely a contemptuous shrug. He may be 
a seer. Has romance departed from the seas with the com¬ 
ing of modem machinery? Or, broadening the thought 
a bit, has modem life lost in beauty and romance while 
it has gained in comfort and safety, and, if so, why 
should we be concerned? This question we must decide, 
and, although our decision will be the expression of a 
personal opinion, we shall stand or fall by its wisdom. 

Here is the poem: 


cargoes 1 

Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir, 

Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine, 

With a cargo of ivory, 

And apes and peacocks, 

Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine. 

Stately Spanish galleon coming from the Isthmus, 

Dipping through the Tropics by the palm-green shores, 
With a cargo of diamonds, 

Emeralds, amethysts, 

Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores. 

Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack, 

Butting through the Channel in the mad March days, 

With a cargo of Tyne coal, 

Road-rails, pig-lead, 

Firewood, iron-ware, and cheap tin trays. 

And now for our criticism: 

1 From Masefield’s Collected Poems. By permission of The Mac¬ 
millan Company, publishers. 


THE CRITICISM 


129 


ROMANCE OR UTILITY 

John Masefield’s “Cargoes,” a short, thoughtful lyric, was pub¬ 
lished in 1903. In the first two of its three short stanzas the 
poet presents pictures of the romantic and beautiful cargoes and 
ships of the past. In the third stanza he shows us the prosaic 
ship and useful cargo of the present. Because of his experiences 
as a sailor Masefield is well acquainted with the ships of the 
modem world, and by his poetic imagination he is able to call up 
glimpses of the ships of vanished ages. 

By his images of ships and cargoes of three different periods 
the poet seems to be pointing out how romance has died as 
machines have grown. The graceful ship of Nineveh, with its 
cargo of ivory, apes, and peacocks, gives way to the stately 
but more materialistic galleon of the sixteenth century, with its 
valuable freight of gold and jewels. And today we have the 
“dirty” British coaster with its matter-of-fact wares: road- 
rails, pig-lead, and cheap tin trays. What a world of scorn there 
is in the word “cheap.” We have gained, perhaps, in the sense 
that we have more and cheaper things to make for comfort and 
order in our lives, but we have lost romance and beauty. 

The swinging rhythm of the poem brings us the feeling of the 
sea. The clear-cut, pictorial words, with the simple, straight¬ 
forward plan of the poem, picture for us, without actually 
describing, the three ships and their cargoes. In short, from 
the points of view of technical excellence and emotional content 
we must conclude that the poem is of the first rank. 

The modem business man would laugh at the notion that 
quinquireme or galleon could be preferred to the steamship 
with its speed and carrying capacity. But anyone who loves 
the sea (and there is a trace of salt in the blood of everyone) 
must feel with Masefield that the world has lost in beauty what 
it has gained in utility. But this is, after all, the history of 
what we call progress, which is only change. For every gain 
there must be an equivalent loss. The poet’s thought brings 
home to us a realization of the mutability of things, and the 
saddening reflection that nothing can be done about it. 


130 

Student Themes 


EXPOSITION 


THE CONGO 

Vachel Lindsay’s “Congo” is a leading exponent of lyric 
poems written primarily with an appeal to the ear rather than 
the eye. In “Congo,” Vachel Lindsay captures with sincere 
accuracy the primitive rhythm of the savage Negro. He paints 
a vivid word picture of the Negro race as he traces it from its 
inception in the wilds of Africa to its transplantation to the 
modem civilization of America. 

Throughout this poem beats that monotonous, nerve-wracking 
refrain of the savage tom-tom: 

“Boomlay! Boomlay! Boomlay! Boom.” 

One can readily conjure up tattooed cannibals whirling in the 
mad orgy of dance, emitting blood-curdling shrieks as they 
circle about the flickering fires; while, underneath it all, beats 
that never-ending refrain, the incessant “Boomlay! Boomlay! 
Boomlay! Boom.” 

Now the stage revolves from primitive Africa to civilized 
America. The sartorially perfect American Negro replaces the 
breech-clouted savage. The incandescent brilliancy of a Harlem 
night club temporarily obliterates the dim weirdness of the 
“forest primeval.” Silk-hatted dandies prance with wild 
abandon to the rollicking rhythm of a “red-hot” jazz orchestra; 
yet, underneath it all, beats a syncopated version of that most 
primitive of strains, ‘ 1 Boomlay! Boomlay! Boomlay! Boom. ’’ 

Suddenly, without warning, the breath of pessimism taints 
the air. The hopeful, carefree “Boomlay! Boomlay! Boomlay! 
Boom,” changes to the melancholy, plaintive “Mumbo-Jumbo 
will hoodoo you.” Red blood rapidly decomposes into icy water 
under the hot breath of fear — the everlasting fear of the 
unknown. Superstition mesmerizes the Negro’s very soul into 
static immobility. However, out of the darkness comes a light, 
the “hope of their religion,” as symbolized by: “Then I saw 
the Congo, creeping through the black, cutting through the 
jungle with a golden track.” Under the warming influence of 


THE CRITICISM 


131 

religious fervor, icy water reverts to red blood once again. The 
light of religion dispels gloom and pessimism from the soul of 
the Negro. “Then I saw the Congo, creeping through the black, 
cutting through the jungle with a golden track,” is the ladder 
of light and hope by which the Negro once more reaches his 
former status as a carefree child of nature. 

In “Congo” Vachel Lindsay attempts to take poetry out 
of the library and restore it to its proper place, the audience 
chamber, through the renewal of an appeal to the ear rather 
than the eye. Lindsay places poetry on a plane easily reached 
by the poetic sense of the masses; yet, his genius succeeds in 
elevating his poetry to the very heights of aestheticism. Be¬ 
cause in “Congo” Vachel Lindsay succeeds in striking so 
happy a medium of rhythm and beauty, I consider that poem 
to be one of the greatest contributions to modem poetry. 

— Leo Macknin 


RICHARD CORY 

Edwin Arlington Robinson, always ironic, wrote one of his 
most subtle cynicisms when he wrote “Richard Cory.” The 
poem appeared in 1897 in his first published book, The Children 
of the Night. 

In this poem is embodied the simple tale of Richard Cory, 
who seemingly possessed everything that any man could wish 
for. Yet this handsome gentleman, envied by all, graced with 
good breeding, health, wealth, and charm — 

“. . . one calm summer night, 

Went home and put a bullet through his head.” 

Robinson’s thought behind these lines is manifold. 

First, he desired to show that to have everything is just as 
undesirable as to have nothing. When we have everything in 
life that could be desired and there is nothing left to strive for, 
what is there to do but put bullets through our heads? 

The second thought hidden in these lines is that man eternally 
desires that which is not his. The village folk in the poem 
desired Richard Cory’s health, wealth, and charm. Richard 


EXPOSITION 


132 

Cory, with nothing to wish for, sickened of life* and desired 
the only thing he had not possessed, death. 

The real thought Robinson wished to convey, however, is 
that life, after all, is futile. The villagers “waited for the light,” 
but Richard Cory found that life offers no “light,” no true 
happiness, no revelation, and so in despair he committed suicide. 

In this poem, Robinson has used the usual meter for thought¬ 
ful narrative poetry, iambic pentameter. With the simplest of 
straightforward speech, he draws a picture of Richard Cory’s 
life. The poet knows well the value of brevity and so, in four 
short stanzas, he presents, with unapproachable technique, a 
masterpiece of subtle irony. The first three stanzas hold us 
with a story told in words which we can understand. Until we 
come to the last line of the poem, it remains merely a fascinating, 
lilting narrative. Then, as if we, too, have been suddenly shot, 
we read: 

“And Richard Cory, one calm summer night, 

Went home and put a bullet through his head.” 

If we analyze the lines, we realize that it is the sublime peace 
of the phrase “one calm summer night” which makes us totally 
unprepared for the last line. Robinson has very effectively 
made use of this “ calm-before-the-storm ” method of reaching a 
climax. 

Robinson’s thought in this poem, as in all his work, seems, 
perhaps, a shade too ironical. That such an outlook on life is 
his own, and is not just a pose, is shown by a remark which he 
once made concerning life: “The world is not a prison house, 
but a spiritual kindergarten, where millions of bewildered infants 
are trying to spell ‘God’ with the wrong blocks.” In this 
remark, we see, along with his fatalism, a kindly pity for those 
individuals who continually struggle against a too powerful fate. 
Robinson’s style, so sincerely and simply presented, comes as 
a relief from the “Pollyanna” type of verse which we encounter 

incessantly. —Margaret Johnson 


THE CRITICISM 


133 


SUGGESTED SUBJECT 
ODE TO THE WEST WIND 

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being, 
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead 
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, 

Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, 
Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou, 

Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed 

The wing&d seeds, where they lie cold and low, 

Each like a corpse within its grave, until 
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow 

Her clarion o’er the dreaming earth, and fill 
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) 

With living hues and odours plain and hill: 

Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere; 

Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh, hear! 

Thou on whose stream, mid the steep sky’s commotion, 
Loose clouds like earth’s decaying leaves are shed, 
Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean, 

Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread 
On the blue surface of thine aery surge, 

Like the bright hair uplifted from the head 

Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge 
Of the horizon to the zenith’s height, 

The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge 

Of the dying year, to which this closing night 
Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, 

Vaulted with all thy congregated might 

Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere 
Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: oh, hear! 


i34 


EXPOSITION 


Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams 
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, 

Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams, 

Beside a pumice isle in Baiae’s bay, 

And saw in sleep old palaces and towers 
Quivering within the wave’s intenser day, 

All overgrown with azure moss and flowers 
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou 
For whose path the Atlantic’s level powers 

Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below 
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear 
The sapless foliage of the ocean, know 

Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear, 

And tremble and despoil themselves: oh, hear! 

If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; 

If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee; 

A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share 

The impulse of thy strength, only less free 
Than thou, O uncontrollable! If even 
I were as in my boyhood, and could be 

The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven, 

As then, when to outstrip thy skyey speed 
Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne’er have striven 

As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. 

Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud! 

I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed! 

A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed 
One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud. 

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: 

What if my leaves are falling like its own! 

The tumult of thy mighty harmonies 


THE CRITICISM 


135 


Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, 

Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, 

My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one! 

Drive my dead thoughts over the universe 
Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth! 

And, by the incantation of this verse, 

Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth 
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! 

Be through my lips to unawakened earth 

The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind, 

If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind? 

— Percy Bysshe Shelley 


THE CHARACTER STUDY 


Mr. Collins was not a sensible man, and the deficiency of 
Nature had been but little assisted by education or society; 
the greatest part of his life having been spent under the guidance 
of an illiterate and miserly father; and though he belonged to 
one of the universities, he had merely kept the necessary terms, 
without forming at it any useful acquaintance. The subjection 
in which his father had brought him up had given him originally 
great humility of manner; but it was now a good deal counter¬ 
acted by the self-conceit of a weak head, living in retirement, 
and the consequential feelings of early and unexpected pros¬ 
perity. A fortunate chance had recommended him to Lady 
Catherine de Bourgh when the living of Hunsford was vacant; 
and the respect which he felt for her high rank, and his venera¬ 
tion for her as his patroness, mingling with a very good opinion 
of himself, of his authority as a clergyman, and his right as a 
rector, made him altogether a mixture of pride and obsequious¬ 
ness, self-importance and humility. _ ., . _ ... 

— Pride and Prejudice 

Do you feel, after reading this short excerpt, that you 
know Mr. Collins? To Jane Austen, his creator, he was 
very real, and in the section of the book following his 
introduction she has made him come to life. For her pur¬ 
poses, then, this character study served the duty of a 
definition. Just as one may define a thing, so one may 
define a person, by the differentiae which set him off from 
all other people in the world. Mr. Collins was not overly 
intelligent, but lack of intelligence is not a distinction. 
The fact that education had done him little good does 
not surprise us. His humility, however, is rather unusual; 

136 


THE CHARACTER STUDY 


137 


and humility joined to self-conceit forms a very unusual 
combination. The important difference, then, between 
Mr. Collins and most other people is the mingling in him 
of pride and obsequiousness, self-importance and humility. 

The study of characters is of interest to everyone who 
lives fully and successfully. The social scientist is con¬ 
stantly concerned with the behavior of people, both as 
individuals and in groups; the historian is aided in ex¬ 
plaining events by his knowledge of the characters of the 
people concerned; the artist, who presents us with pic¬ 
tures of life as it seems to him, is interested above all in 
people, people both as types and as individuals differing 
from the type. 

Miss Austen has given us a picture of Mr. Collins, 
not as a typical clergyman but as a different clergyman. 
She might as easily have made him typical, but then he 
would have lost his distinctive qualities. Other people 
in her novel, however, are types. And, indeed, as we study 
our own world and read what has been written about it, 
we come to the conclusion that all people can be classified 
generally as types, but that within the classifications there 
are always some differences which make each person an 
individual. 

What is a typical street-car conductor, policeman, jani¬ 
tor, boarding-house keeper, instructor, student, business 
man, or stenographer? By a careful study of numerous 
examples from a single homogeneous group we can dis¬ 
cover certain common qualities, with perhaps one or more 
of them predominating. Grouping these qualities together 
and making the minor qualities subservient to the domi¬ 
nant characteristic, as we see that dominant characteristic, 
we can produce a study of a typical character. 

We might, for example, discover that most actors are 
filled with a sense of their own importance and abilities; 


EXPOSITION 


138 

that each is jealous of his fellows, giving only hypocritical 
praise for a good performance, and convinced that, given 
the opportunity, he could do it better. We might find, 
further, that actors live rather happy-go-lucky lives, giv¬ 
ing no thought to the morrow, laying up nothing for the 
day when an engagement will be hard to find. In addition, 
we might find them to be warm-hearted folk, with a 
strong sense of loyalty to their profession, and always 
willing to help a comrade who is out of work. What 
would be the dominant quality of the type? Would it 
not depend largely upon your own attitude toward actors? 
If you approved of them, you would emphasize the best 
qualities; otherwise you would emphasize the worst. 

But suppose you found an actor who was not jealous, 
or one who was modest, or who did take precautions 
against rainy days, or who was not warm-hearted. You 
would have a character with certain differences from the 
type, and your study would be of an individual. 

Look, then, first of all, at your subject as a type. 
You may find that the study of a type character will 
satisfy your purposes. But if you find in your subject 
certain particularly interesting differences from the type, 
study him as an individual. His dominant characteristics, 
then, will be those which set him off from the group to 
which by native qualities, background, and training, he 
normally belongs. 

Here our discussion of the character study must close, 
for with it we enter upon the plane of creative writing. 
We can give you no outlines or matter-of-fact models. 
Your creative talent must find for itself the best form for 
the expression of your thought. If you wish models you 
will find an abundance of them in literature, and here are, 
also, some commendable student themes that may stimu¬ 
late you. But it is time, now, to rise above mere imitation. 


THE CHARACTER STUDY 


139 


Strike out boldly, and give your pen full freedom to pro¬ 
duce clear-cut, incisive portraits of real people with their 
faults and their strengths, their tawdriness and their 
glory. 

Student Themes 


WIVES 

The wives of men who teach in colleges are remarkable in 
that they do not forget all the history and languages they 
learned in school. Along with the usual bridge and babies, they 
can discuss philosophy, or the Japanese situation, or medieval 
art, or any other of the innumerable things that the wives of 
department heads talk about. Overnight they develop a love 
of antiques because second-hand furniture is less expensive. 
They really use the recipes for cheaper cuts of meat. By taking 
away or adding a scarf and a pin, they make last year’s dress 
serve for next year too. Instead of spending Sunday afternoon 
in pajamas, they make formal calls or entertain other fifteen- 
minute visitors. They are clever women who always do every¬ 
thing that ought to be done. 


At least they intend to. 


Katherine Jackman 


A FOOTBALL PLAYER 

Is a kind of walking billboard. He has a strange idea con¬ 
cerning himself and to achieve fame he would gladly sacrifice 
his dearest friends. He comes to college not to study, but to 
carry the “pigskin” a mere ten yards. After doing this he 
fully expects to be pushed through college. He dresses not as 
the well dressed college boy, but steps out in a style all his own. 
His suits are rough tweed and his overcoat is a big, black 
“Alpacatuft.” He never would think of wearing spats nor 
would he ever consider shining his shoes. He very seldom 
attends a class but considers the university lucky to have him. 


140 


EXPOSITION 


There are several forms of entertainment which he seems to 
enjoy. He loves little blondes who can easily tell him how 
marvelous he is. He believes that all the newspaper men 
actually do want his picture and never supposes that it was a 
bad day for news. Heaven help him when he receives his 
varsity sweater! With broad shoulders and chest protruding, 
he insists on wearing it even to his fraternity formal. He stays 
in school four years making straight “C’s.” He plays football 
until his weight and age forbid and then retires — no further 
along in life than when he started — to go into “the insurance 
game.’' 

— Mabelle Lathrop 

A MODERN MINISTER 

It is a pity that the theological schools do not graduate more 
like him. There are many, I dare say, in every Freshman class, 
who, when they enter, are as unbiased in thought as he is. 
However, before they finish the four years of seminar life, in 
all probability they either give up the ministry or remodel their 
ideas to conform with the prescribed dogma of what should be 
believed and preached, and what should not. 

Doctor X, however, has risen above conformity, has gleaned 
from his schooling a few worthy ideas, and has learned to 
present these ideas, shorn of hypocrisy, with an eloquence 
bordering on genius. As he stands in the pulpit, delivering his 
words of wisdom, one is moved to compare him with a great 
actor or a renowned orator, so entirely does he hold his listeners’ 
attention; yet almost never does he raise his voice above normal 
tones. 

But oratory alone does not explain his ability to hold spell¬ 
bound those who listen to him. The more potent explanation 
is that, as one listens to him, one knows that he believes and 
lives every word that he utters. His faith and hope and courage 
radiate from his personality, until, as if by magic, doubting and 
discouraged listeners are caught up in that radiance and become 
filled with a glow of hope that they have never known before. 

True, he makes the old cronies writhe in their seats. Courage 


THE CHARACTER STUDY 


141 

such as his is new and unpleasant to them. They believe that 
the preaching of the gospel should be conducted along certain 
definite lines and that any departure from this procedure is 
sacrilege and heresy. Imagine having to listen to a young 
upstart of a preacher declare that the Bible is merely a tool in 
the great philosophy of Christianity and is not a verbatim 
history as they have so long and fervently believed! 

He will not be our minister long. Soon the old cronies will 
be shocked into demanding a new pastor, but we who have 
learned to love him will thank heaven that sincerity and 
courage have been revealed to us. 

— Margaret Johnson 


A MODEST PROPOSAL 


Perhaps you are wondering how best to spend a free 
evening. After a time your roommate speaks up with 
“I’ll tell you what let’s do,” and proceeds to make a 
modest proposal. And in the legislative halls at Washing¬ 
ton, a senator rises ponderously to his feet, thrusts a hand 
into the breast of his frock coat, and, in words of wondrous 
length and sounding fury, proceeds to say, in effect, “I’ll 
tell you what let’s do.” But his proposal is not always 
modest. 

Dean Swift first used the phrase “a modest proposal” 
as a title for an essay in which he satirized his contempo¬ 
rary civilization, a civilization which, unfortunately like 
ours today, rated human life as worth less than property. 
But, although we may find the brilliance of Swift’s satire 
beyond us, we can borrow its title because it so aptly 
indicates what all our opinions should be — modest pro¬ 
posals. Few people can afford to advance opinions other 
than modest, because opinions cannot be proved and for 
testing they must await the working out of events. 

An opinion is a judgment held to be true, but without 
positive knowledge. There is little room for opinion, 
except in the legal sense, in matters of the past or present, 
for usually in such matters there are facts to be found and 
organized into judgments. An opinion, therefore, usually 
applies to the future and is problematic, but it is something 
more than a guess. One may guess about the weather; 
one may surmise, or conjecture, that it will rain tomorrow, 
but the weatherman, with a wide knowlege of drifting 
142 


A MODEST PROPOSAL 


*43 


air-currents, areas of low pressure, and so forth, may offer 
as his well-reasoned opinion that it will rain tomorrow. 
Even then he is wise to qualify with a “probably.” In 
other words, a judgment is a proved conclusion based upon 
organized facts; an opinion is an unproved conclusion, 
but still based upon organized facts; and a guess is a 
hasty and usually worthless conjecture. 

We are a rash and thoughtless people. Constantly we 
offer what we call opinions, but what are really guesses. 
And when our guesses are challenged, we rationalize them, 
that is, we seek to find reasons in their support. We 
conjecture that So-and-so should be elected to a position 
of public trust. Our conjecture is challenged. Instead 
of frankly admitting that we are guessing, we feel im¬ 
pelled to defend our guess. “Of course he ought to be 
elected; everybody’s for him. He’s the best man for the 
job. The people are tired of such and such; they want a 
change. The reform party is for him. He has an excellent 
record.” And so on and so on. This is rationalizing. 
The wish is father to the thought. Instead of proceeding 
logically from reasons to conclusion we reverse the process. 
And, since we lack logic, we hide our lack of it beneath a 
cloak of words, endeavoring to convince by noise, rather 
than by reason. 

But opinions come after thought, not before. Should 
So-and-so be elected? As shown by straw votes he is 
the choice of many people, but is the voice of the multitude 
always right? True, there is dissatisfaction with the 
present incumbent, but are we sure that the candidate 
will be any better? He has a good record, but he is weak; 
bad advisers might destroy his good intentions. His pro¬ 
gram is good, but has he the strength to carry it out? 
And so we ponder, arriving perhaps at an opinion exactly 
opposite to our hasty guess, or, perhaps, reaching the 


144 


EXPOSITION 


conclusion that no judgment can be made at all. In the 
latter case we say nothing, and are wise to do so. 

Should a course in English be required? Should capital 
punishment be abolished? Should war be outlawed? 
Should movies be censored ? Can humanity progress mor¬ 
ally? Should taxes be reduced or increased? Can eco¬ 
nomic depressions be prevented? Can education cure 
criminals? These are only a few of the problems with 
which educators, psychologists, statesmen, ministers, econ¬ 
omists, and thinking men generally must cope daily. 
Perhaps they are too large for you. If so, find some smaller 
problem to deal with in your community, your home, or 
your personal life: Does my city need a larger police 
force? What shall be done about the Sunday newspaper 
problem in my home? Should I continue in my present 
course of study, or should I choose another? And so on. 

Remember, whatever your problem, first to state it 
completely, then to organize and balance all the facts 
to be found, and finally to offer your proposal modestly, 
with full realization that there is much to be said on both 
sides. And here we leave you to seek your own form and 
style — editorial, satire, mock heroic epistle, serious, ora¬ 
torical, or comic — whatever best suits your idea. And, 
lest you lean over backward in your modesty, consider 
the words of Emerson: 

A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light 
which flashes across the mind from within, more than the lustre 
of the firmament of bards and sages. Yet he dismisses without 
notice his thought, because it is his. . . . Tomorrow a stranger 
will say with masterly good sense precisely what we have thought 
and felt all the time, and we shall be forced to take with shame 
our own opinion from another. 


A MODEST PROPOSAL 


145 


Student Themes 


MARRIAGE AS A CAREER 

In answer to the question — should a girl choose marriage 
or a career, I would propose that a girl should make marriage 
her career. 

According to the biologist, the psychologist, and the theo¬ 
logian, a woman’s main purpose in the world is motherhood. 
We hear much from the thinkers of the day about the heavy 
responsibility which rests on the mothers of the world. These 
mothers are primarily responsible for the kinds of individuals 
who will inhabit the earth in the next hundred years. Therefore 
should not every girl realize the importance of her share in the 
betterment of mankind? Realizing this she would approach 
marriage with the same enthusiasm she would manifest upon 
getting a new and interesting job. What an improvement the 
next generation would show if all the mothers of today had 
looked forward to marriage as their career and had along with 
their general education taken some training in the difficult art 
of raising their children in the most favorable home environ¬ 
ment. 

As a factor contributing toward the economic adjustment, 
the general acceptance by women of marriage as a career would 
prove helpful in providing employment for many men now 
denied it. 

Unfortunately, however, we are far too selfish to be more 
than mildly interested in the betterment of mankind as a whole 
by any specific action on our part. So to make my proposal 
more appealing to the individual I must consider the relation¬ 
ship of marriage as a career to the fullest development of the 
individual. 

Biologically man and woman are not complete within them¬ 
selves and by uniting in marriage they promote the best and 
most natural physical development. Marriage offers a fertile 
field for the testing and strengthening of character and the 
broadening of personality. 


EXPOSITION 


146 

The joys and sorrows of following the development and 
shaping the destiny of one’s own child add a richness and mean¬ 
ing to life which is unexcelled. The most important benefit to 
the individual through marriage comes in the satisfaction of the 
individual’s need for true companionship. 

It is my modest opinion that any marriage may include all 
of these things but the girl who makes her marriage a career 
and concentrates her energies solely on its success would be 
repaid an hundredfold. _ Jean ^ 


A NEW CONCEPTION OF LIFE 

We modems overestimate our importance. Yes, we greatly 
overestimate it — but why? 

Indeed it is tme man is the most movable of animals. He 
can run about the continents or spend his summers at the 
poles. The sky is no longer his limit, nor is the bottom of the 
sea forbidden ground. On foot ten miles an hour was good 
speed. By airplane two hundred miles an horn’ is now a com¬ 
monplace. But compared with atoms and the stars, with 
wandering electrons and with light, man, to be sure, is relatively 
at rest. He lives upon a little wizened earth and, there, upon a 
narrow film between the violence of fire and cold. The earth 
after all is a minor resident of our solar system, of which there 
are a good billion members. The geologist pounding rocks is 
inspecting a planetary architecture on which man is a moist 
and sticky bit of mold. On nature’s scale man is a mere droplet 
of water that catches the sparkle of suns. He can see a good 
deal, but he cannot do much about such things as stellar proc¬ 
esses or electronic motions. 

From the statistics of a heavenly census taker we read that 
thirty-five billion stars inhabit this universe and the good part 
about this is that they have room within for exercise without 
much bumping. In fact the universe is mostly room and not 
matter, so that it wouldn’t be false to say “that everything is 
mostly nothing!’’ And man does well to notice it at all. 

On this earth life is a thin and uncertain oddity, left, as it 


A MODEST PROPOSAL 


147 


were, in the form of a precipitate from the interactions of the 
rocks, the seas, and the air, and always subject to their geo¬ 
logical conditions. Life is a mere fragile smear of something 
here and there that we call protoplasm, and — it lives! The 
earth’s temperatures — strange and wondrous fact — vary, 
whence this jelly came, not more than a few score degrees; the 
semi-fluid stuff dare neither freeze nor boil. 

This thing “life” — it is a minor geological affair, but major 
for us — and quietly in my mind I wonder — “Should it be 
major?” 


— Harrison Rubin 




















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